Must Love Crows

Writer, Actor & Intuitive Andrea Scoretz

wellness blogger

On Quitting, Crying, and Shaming

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I quit my job the other day, an act which was preceded by a series of long time comin’ emotional melt downs.

Before you start getting ideas in your head of what that entailed, let me paint the picture for you: I got super pissed off about how employer dude treated me last week, tried to laugh it off when he gave me a raise to compensate for his digressions, and then had a fierce crying session, that came and went with varying degrees of intensity for about 4 days.

I cried at home. I cried in the car. I cried on the acupuncturist’s table. Then I cried some more when she left me in the room to percolate with all the needles in.

I cried a lot. And to be clear, I wasn’t crying about this dude. I was letting out years worth of emotional stifling that I had convinced myself wasn’t worthy of crying over.

I taught myself that how I felt wasn’t OK; I told myself that in comparison to others, I didn’t have it that bad and therefore, had nothing to cry about.

So I shamed myself, and in doing so, ended up with some seriously shitty subcutaneous beliefs that said, “You don’t matter.”

Except I do matter. It’s just this little kid in me who thinks otherwise.

So right now I’m in the thick of the healing process and trying to do it sans shame. I mean I still think of the comments I’ve heard in the past (“compared to what’s going on in my life, your issues are nothing”) and think, “Really Andrea, WTF do you have going on that’s so bad that warrants all the dramatics?”

But then I remember that I deserve compassion and love and empathy, even if some people, including myself, don’t think I do. And I also remember that I have some things that I’ve been trying to ignore my entire life – Namely, why I feel so attached to the need to be perfect – and that it’s not going away. I need to unpack that shit and get rid of it.

Except I’m a little confused on how to do that at the moment.

But then I remember this neat little truth: it’s not my job to know the answer to everything, all the time. It’s my job to be kind to myself, and give myself a break, and love myself, even if part of me isn’t on board with that.

So I’m doing a few things: seeing an acupuncturist (who is miraculous in my opinion), taking a course I took last year that really helped, amping up my yoga and meditation practice, and am going to start seeing a psychologist to help me release the need to be perfect. So overall, self-care is at the top of my list right now.

And so is quitting my job, which was a pretty courageous and bad ass thing to do.

Here are some things I know right now: everyone on the planet is doing the best they can. It doesn’t seem that way, but given the restrictions we set upon ourselves belief wise, there’s bound to be some variations on what we consider to be our best.

And right now I’m trying really hard. Even if it’s not my top shelf, finest shining moment in the eyes of the 10-year-old perfectionist in me – it’s still pretty fucking spectacular.

And that has to be enough.

In Defence of Quitting

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So I came across this quote on Facebook the other day: “Winners are not people who never fail. Winners are people who never quit.”

And I’m going to offer up a big F you to that guilt-laden crap, because guess what?

There ain’t nothin’ wrong with quitting something that isn’t working for you.

Puhhllleeeaassseee with all this pressure! Seriously! All this so-called self-help stuff that guilts us into believing that we must suffer — that we must ignore our soul calling out when it says “no more working for the man — time to invest in me!!”

I’m over it, and I hope you give yourself permission to be over it too.

Because damned if life isn’t hard enough — now we have to stick it out through everything? Even the stuff that is making us depressed and anxious and miserable?

Nuh uh. I’m done with that way of living.

Does that mean I’m going to walk out on my part-time gig because it brings me occasional discontent? No. Because not having the guaranteed cash flow every week would cause me even more stress. Plus if I’m being real with you, it has really helped me work on my patience (I wrote about that here.)

But if something came up that made me happier, you can sure as shit bet I would take that new gig. And you know what I’ll do when that comes about?

I’ll quit.

Sure I’ll give my two weeks (probably more, because 2 weeks is super short ) but I’ll still quit in order to get going on something that better jives with me.

And I’ll do it because there’s nothing wrong with quitting if you feel it’s time to do so.

Right there, I’ve dispelled this whole “never quit” belief that quite frankly, is causing everyone a whole lot of unnecessary pain and shame.

So my friends, if you feel called to quit, quit. And don’t shame yourself for it.

And please unfollow any accounts in your social media feeds that offer up silly quotes that attempt to shame you into accepting discontent. No one needs that unproductive pressure to be perfect shoved in their face.

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Full Moon Clarity on Codependency

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My life over the past few years has been a steady flow of life altering realizations, and I can thank the full moon for it.

That sounds hippy-ish, which I have no problem owning — I am a hippy at heart. I just still shave my armpits and wouldn’t pass up vintage Chanel if I came across it.

But let me explain further: not all of these realizations are “holy shit — are you kidding me?!” moments. Some are “Gee, I never thought of it that way” situations.

Although lately, there have been many more core-rattling, soul-freeing moments of recognition than minor insights. And it’s been intense.

Usually, the most extraordinary moments of wake-the-fuck-up clarity come after a period of severe mental and emotional shutdown. I’m talking, I-shouldn’t-be-allowed-in-public kind of terrible. These are the days that, no matter what I do, nothing appears to be powerful enough to shake the overall shittiness I feel.

So I just try to stay away from people, read uplifting books, stretch and meditate, and stay the F away from social media. Because I’m way too volatile to handle random DMs on those days.

Did I mention this next-level doom I find myself consumed by always coincides with the full moon?

Years ago, if you had mentioned anything about the full moon being responsible for my problems I would have given you my are-you-fucking-kidding-me look and called you a weirdo as soon as you left.

But nowadays there is no denying it: the full moon brings out the emotional instability in me.

There is, however, some glory on the other end of these periods of despair. I ALWAYS come out with something solid, like a golden bar of guidance which was only achievable and attained through a period of wretchedness.

So yeah, the shit brings gold. And here I am with another bar of it, after the full moon that has just passed. This month’s golden wisdom?

My co-dependent relationship with my mom needs to end because it’s causing us both a lot of pain.

This is a huge one for me because I keep holding onto this image of us being BFFs, and being in sync and relating on every level. I’ve been wanting this to be the reality for years, even though I know in my heart it’s never going to happen. And this past weekend has finally pushed me outside the bubble of that dream and into reality.

We are very different people. We clash quite a bit, and I find myself irritated and annoyed and often times insulted, as I’m sure she does as well. 

And it’s my own fault because I keep coming to her about everything — not because it’s necessary but because I am so used to doing so. Some days I get so excited about things that have gone on with my writing career, or a new insight I’ve had that I want to share it with her, forgetting the fact that she’s just not into the things I’m excited about.

In reality, much of what I share with her could do without being said: there is no need for me to talk to her about everything and anything. I just do it because it’s what I’ve always done.

On her end, I’m sure she get’s annoyed with me. In fact I know she does, because she has a tendency to zone out when I’m talking to her. As I said before, she just isn’t that into what I have to say. But she still relies on me as her main source of companionship, and I her, which is proving to be super unhealthy and we both know it. In fact, we’ve both admitted it, on multiple occasions.

I feel she needs some acquaintances with similar interests, because people need to connect with other people, or else they get depressed – and I know that first hand. But I can’t be her sole source of connection. I don’t have it in me to be that, and what’s more, it’s not fair. That’s too much pressure, to be my parent’s everything.

And it’s not possible for me to fulfill that role either, at least not well, because at our cores, we are so different. I wish it weren’t the case because I’d love her to understand me more and get what I’m trying to do with my life: evolve and become a more conscious human being. And I’m sure she wishes I understood her more as well and was more agreeable with her words, actions, and decisions.

But here we are, two people relying on each other way too much, and it’s not working anymore because we just don’t fucking relate.

Yesterday this wild aha moment came to me:

you cannot evolve into the person you are destined to be if you stay in this state — in this codependent relationship. The longer you stay in this dysfunction the more both of you will suffer. You have to stop being so desperate to connect with your mother over everything and anything because she will never relate to you to the level you want her to, and vice versa. To do so — to endlessly hope for the impossible — is to suffer. Do you want to suffer?

The short answer is no, I don’t want to suffer. And I don’t want my mom to suffer. I think my worries about her suffering is what got us here in the first place (did I mention we are in a time out at the moment?)

I worry about her. I feel bad that she has no partner: that she has no one to go to tea with but me. I feel guilty that she isn’t happier and healthier, and that (in my opinion) she doesn’t take any ownership for where she is in her life.

I also feel bad that I don’t relate to her as much as I’d like to. But you know what I really want? I want my space. I want to feel free to be myself, 100%, without the old school comments that, with a snap of the finger, make me feel less than.

I want to not feel responsible for her isolated way of living, and for her lack of connection with others.

I want to not feel like I owe her all of me, all the time.

What do I know I need to do?

I need to stop the constant check ins, and excessive amounts of time spent with her. I do not need to have lunch with her 3 times a week or invite her on every single walk.

I need to acknowledge that just because I feel she doesn’t value me the way I want her to, doesn’t mean I’m not of value.

I need to accept that she doesn’t get me, or what I’m trying to do, or who I endeavor to be – at least, not to the level I do.

I need to give her space and time, so she can fill it with activities and people who are closer suited to her personality and beliefs.

I need to do away with the dream that she will be kind to me all the time. And I need to accept that sometimes I need my space, and when I do I should stay far away from her because when don’t, I can be a righteous bitch. That never feels good.

I need to admit that my incessant need to run things by her and have her understand me is not working – some things she is never going to understand, and that’s OK.

I need to realize that the longer I feel bad for her and fill up her days with my voice and my presence, the longer she will abstain from connection with anyone outside of me.

Sounds like I know what I need to do. Time to give us both some breathing room, and stop trying to take responsibility for someone else’s happiness (damn these control issues! lol!)

Of course, I’ll always be there for her. And it’s not that I won’t go out for lunch and chat with her and make time to be there for her and help her.

But for the sake of both of us, the codependency has to end. Time to cut the chord, and I can thank the full moon for that realization.

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Why I Use Pessimism as a Survival Tactic

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Why I Use Pessimism as a Survival Tactic - Must Love Crows
my post pessimism glow

I’ve been slightly obsessed with the idea of pessimism lately.

I keep thinking about how it harms us, but also how it serves us. Lot’s of note jotting and talking to Siri about it.

I used to be a hard-core pessimist. Things are better these days, and I’m generally quite capable of swapping out negatives narratives for positives ones. But there are still times when I struggle to think positively about others and myself.

I acknowledge that my self-directed pessimism does me little to no good. It’s caused me heaps of world-ending anxiety over the years, which as of recently has led to some rather severe health issues.

So overall, I’m trying to focus all my activities and thoughts on positive things, with the exception of a bit of what I’m calling healthy, outwardly directed pessimism.

Because sure, it doesn’t serve me to berate myself with thoughts like, “you’re going to screw this up and no one will like you anymore.”

But it does serve me to think, “He’s going to be difficult to deal with so I better take a moment to prepare myself for how I will respond to any hostility, so as not to make the situation any worse.” Do you see how this might help a sister out?

I think this whole idea of pessimism as a survival tactic is extremely valuable.

I started thinking about it when I saw this YouTube video on pessimism by School of Life a few months ago. The idea that it could be used to my benefit was fascinating to me.

Because I harmed myself for years by being pessimistic. And then I beat myself up by harshly judged myself for doing it. Now, to find a way to use it to my advantage – that’s some cool shit right there.

And talk about empowering: the very thing that caused me heaps of problems can be refurbed into something that makes my life easier.

Needless to say, I’ve tossed out a lot of emotional baggage over the years. I overhauled the contents of my belief system and started afresh. Many steps forward were taken. Many fear-laced steps were taken back. And lot’s of tears and mini emotional break downs were had.

But here we are today: today is good. Save for some soon to be sorted out health issues, I am solid. And I’m here because I decided to let go of all of my past beliefs.

Save for my buddy pessimism.

Here’s the logic: in order for me to be the badass boss woman I am today, I can’t be pessimistic about my skills, my drive, or my abilities. No room or time for that.

But what has served me so very well over the past few years has been a dose of pessimism when I’m dealing with other people.

Case in point:

  • an ego-centric employer;
  • a family member who tries to cover up his insecurities with heavy snark;
  • a friend who got a pink slip from me trying to shame me

The common denominator in all three of these scenarios is that everyone was struggling with their ego. That sucker was running the show and keeping them from one incredibly valuable act: connection with others.

Because who the hell wants to hang out with people who are mean and unsupportive?

Their ego-sponsored unkindness was reliable AF. So after many repeated acts of ego, and dealing with the emotional run off too many times (“Why is he/she doing this? Why are they being so mean? Waaaahhhhhh!!”) I realized I needed to get reliable with my use of pessimism.

I needed to start assuming they were going to act shitty and amp myself up to set a good example.

I needed to not respond to their aggression with more aggression: to not give them more fuel to keep their pain fire burning.

I use pessimism these days in a diluted, based-in-kindness form these days.

I ponder stuff like:

“I know this guy is struggling to function, so I’ll commit to calling out the rudeness in a calm and kind way, if and/or when something comes up that’s not appropriate.”

Rather than:

“This guy is a righteous asshole and I know he is going to f*** with me today – so I’m going to get myself jacked up with comebacks for his inevitable insults to my character.”

I do my damnedest to stick to the first scenario these days and wow, does it work well for me when I do. I can focus on doing my best, and not get so rattled or obsessed with other people’s perceived shit. ‘Cause everyone’s got some that they want to fling.

Which brings me to another act that makes life easier: accepting that I will never be perfect.

Newsflash: I make mistakes. I do not always get things right, which may seem entirely obvious but we live in a society where we have to be constantly reminded of that fact. The amount of emotional disorders that come from trying to live an Instagram worthy life is absolutely insane.

And that’s one of the reasons why I’ve been able to start using pessimism in such a healthy way: Because I am hyper accepting of the fact that as humans, we were made to be flawed.

Some days my best is not my best. And I sure as hell don’t have it all figured out. But when I do struggle or screw up, I’ve always got writing to help me make sense of it all.

So cheers to pessimism, in all its tarnished glory. It might have a bad rap, but when you use it to your benefit, it’s a powerful tool.

(PS: there was a bit of pessimism over whether or not the hubby would get the boat ready for floating today – so I snapped a pic of my relieved face upon finding he had!)

What I Learned From Being Car Shamed

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So I got car shamed last week and it was lame. Here’s the back story:

I was at work when I got an email from one of the tenants (we rent spaces to people) urging me to check out an article on how to give my car a poor man’s paint job. Why? Here’s the back story:

I drive an older car (see above). It’s a 1991 Honda hatchback station wagon, and it has some paint peeling off of it, not unlike a lot of cars you see of that vintage.

And I love that car. I even named her Neenee. She’s reliable, and when she has problems she’s cheap to fix and rebounds like a newborn. She just won’t quit, like the woman who drives her.

What’s more, I really appreciate my vehicle. It get’s me to my part-time gig safely and reliably, and is cheap on gas to boot. Best 1200 dollars I ever spent.

Which is why I got irritated when this guy sent this weird, slightly insulting email.

It’s really my ego that got defensive and pissed off, as can be deduced by the following diatribe that rolled through my head shortly after receiving the email:

“Who does this moron think he is sending me an email like that? I’m not poor, I’m smart with my money. And I don’t need to show off in an outside-my-means leased car to prove my worth to random people like him. Plus: I’m here to work asshole, not to deal with weird, passive aggressive messaged like this.”

Whoa! Do not poke the bear! But I know where that aggression is coming from. I have a hard time with ego-centric comments, which I’m guessing comes from my long-standing commitment to my own ego, which is still alive and well. I’m making progress, but it clearly likes to take center stage on occasion.

And the fact that I worked for and with so many egotists for most of my life is a top contender for why I voraciously reject men who try to dominate me with not-so-passive aggressive comments.

(And I dated a lot of them too, which you can read about via my latest Huffington Post article.)

But here’s the thing I know and acknowledge: the fact that I get so pissed off is proof that my ego is still kicking it old school. It wants to be in control. So when it perceives a comment as negative, it takes off in full justification mode (case in point the rant a few paragraphs up.)

But when I take the time to breathe and 5-4-3-2-1-it (have you read Mel Robbins’ book yet? Doooo it!) I can take back the reigns.

Still, even with all that knowledge and understanding, I’m fascinated over why this person tried to car shame me.

This guy’s ego-centric comments come in many more flavors. Car-wise though, he has made cracks about mine before. And he makes cracks about other people’s cars too. So the psychologist in me just wants to know why the f*** he cares about what other people’s cars look like. Seriously, what gives?

And this isn’t the first person who has not so subtly alluded to the fact that my car isn’t acceptable as is.

I had a family member openly admit to being embarrassed about getting a ride in it. And an acquaintance was adamant that we should lease a brand new Honda and get rid of the old one. “It’s only X amount of dollars per month…”

But that’s my point: it’s X amount of dollars per month. Why would I spend a bunch of money, or borrow cash from a bank to buy a car just to appease the people who are uncomfortable with how mine looks? Especially when my car still works?

I’m not going to pimp my ride alas Xzibit (remember that show? They need to bring it back) when there’s no return on investment. A paint job on a 1991 Honda does not serve someone who is in empire-building mode. (Thanks for those two paragraphs ego – but I’ll take the reigns again now)

Regardless of who said what and when it’s all so fascinating to me how uncomfortable my car makes other people.

Every single one of them is living in the faux-zone. And they’ll do whatever it takes to keep up the pretenses – overspending, ruining their credit and causing themselves heaps of anxiety in the process (case in point: that family member who found my car unacceptable.)

What these people seem to have in common (oh I’m in dangerous territory here with all these stinky assumptions that are rolling out) is that in rejecting me and my car, they reject themselves.

They have these self-perceived inadequacies, and instead of facing them and working on them, they choose the easy route: pointing out other people’s perceived issues.

Even if said person doesn’t see them as being issues.

If I’m honest, there are moments where I feel the pull to live in faux-mode. It’s not surprising, as those beliefs were ingrained in me from a young age. But I’m working on them.

Would I like a new car with a shiny new paint job? Yes. But I refuse to go into debt over it, and I’m not in the tax bracket (yet – but soon) where I’d be comfortable dropping a lot of coin on a car.

These days I do my best to follow the old school rule: if you can’t afford to pay cash, don’t buy it. I’m all about good credit ratings, probably because I wasn’t for so long.

So maybe this push from the egotist at work is a lesson, there to reaffirm what I already know: it is ridiculous to worry about how things look to others.

All that matters is that I stay true to what I know to be right for me.

These days I fancy myself a pretty good business woman. And I know it’s a bad business decision to sink money into something that gives no return on investment. Case in point, a paint job on a 1991 Honda.

And I’m a realist – I know sooner or later we will have to upgrade our car. Which means we will look after Neenee as best we can, and keep on saving our cash money until the time comes.

It’s very likely that we may borrow money to get a newer car down the road.

But the purpose of whatever new car we do get will be because we need it. Not to appease the egotistical need to live up to the expectations of others.

So even though my ego wanted to tell this guy to f** off, I listened to logic and Eckart Tolle, both of which reminded me that aggression would only disrupt my commitment to living in a peaceful state.

And I’ve already allowed my peace to be disrupted enough when I allowed myself to be temporarily consumed with that email when it came through. Enough ruminating on that garbage.

So what did I do? How did I handle this not-so-passive aggressive snark mail?

I said and did absolutely nothing, save for a bit of reflecting.

I acknowledged that this guy has no tact and that it’s not my job to show him that maybe he should do some thinking as to why he is so obsessed with my car.

And I realized that his comment was just a comment, and it’s my choice to keep thinking about it or not.

And I acknowledged my own ego getting riled up about someone elluding to me being less than because of the car I drive, and told it, “Not today ego! Not today!”

Andrea 1.

Ego 0.

Jerk at work -1.

May the peace be with you friends. And may your car be steadfast, with or without a fancy paint job.

Why Bad Boys and Contouring Sticks Are Ruining Your Life

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*This post has been featured on Huffington post, albeit with a different title that I’m not a major fan of. Oh well. Choose your battles right? 😉

I was listening to John Mayer the other day (thanks Spotify for the random playlists that really just get me), and I thought, “I don’t care how many Hollywood broads he’s bedded — this guy’s voice is dreamy.”

Then I acknowledged the fact that yes, this is a guy I would have been drawn to in my 20s: an edgy bad boy who would have given me just enough attention to leave me wanting more.

Because I’m one of those chicks who has been drawn to bad boys to no end.

I loathe the term associated with that scene, “daddy issues.” Mostly because if we’re going to minimize a woman and her struggles stemming from her issues with her father, we should be highlighting how many men have the same problems. It seems over the years it’s become a way to shuffle women into a less-than category — a way to label them as f***ed up, but still acknowledge that they are victims of neglect. All with a sprinkle of condescension and unkindness.

“Hey I know you suffered, but I don’t want compassion to give you a big head so let’s give your issues an insulting label.” It’s lame AF.

I used to use the term daddy issues a lot, back when I was in a self-loathing zone. But now I’m of the mindset that the words we use are powerful, and being impeccable with your word is paramount to health and wellness (thanks, The Four Agreements). So I’m wary of the terms that leave my lips these days.

My research, self-reflection and life experience has proven that when kids aren’t given enough love, they suffer. Badly.

Which is why I now refer to daddy issues as “not enough love syndrome.”

You can take a kid with all the abilities, talents and opportunities in the world, and they can and will choose cocaine over it all if they weren’t given appropriate doses of love.

If a parent isn’t capable or willing to model healthy self-love, the kid isn’t going to know how to love themselves. So they’ll look to fill the void in other ways, which is how people become addicts. When you’re depressed and sad, you want to feel good. Alcohol and drugs fix that emptiness pretty damn quickly. Sure the hangover is horrible, but when you’re desperate you’ll do it all for the dopamine.

And then we have the parents who helped create the scenario, judging and dismissing ownership. “My kid is f***** up,” they say, forgetful of the fact that kids learn everything from the actions and belief systems handed down to them from their parents.

Ask a dog trainer about why a dog a bites, and she or he will tell you it’s picking up on the owner’s aggression. And yes, I’m saying we are like dogs. We are connected to every living thing on the planet.

The longer we ignore that truth the more we and the entire planet suffer.

Now that I’ve lost half the audience (Hi pessimism! I was wondering where you went!) let’s go back to John Mayer. I don’t know him from a hole in the ground, save for what the tabloids and Taylor Swift has not-so-elusively said. But he’s the quintessential womanizer, at least that’s how he has been painted in the media. And women who lack self-love adore those kinds of men.

Take me for example: I was infatuated with self-righteous egotists who were incapable of kindness. I wanted their attention, with the problem being that I couldn’t keep it. The confident, sophisticated part I played was a very thin ruse, and a millimeter below the surface I was broken. As soon as I felt a tiny bit of connection, the desperation bubbled over and the truth revealed itself.

Not many guys think it’s fun or sexy to be broken. They like pretty, strong, and confident women, all of which are impossible to attain full time. I mean you can have the most amazing life, but you’ll still have moments where you feel like a shell of a human. No amount of contouring will erase that fact.

Which is why I think women are so obsessed with beauty. It’s a wonderful distraction, to make yourself pretty, even though all these ugly feelings are haunting you. Playing pretend is fun, but it’s just a distraction from what’s going on below the surface.

Don’t get me wrong — I love makeup. But I also love myself enough to know that a three-in-one contouring stick won’t show me how to love myself.

And neither will seeking validation from some some jerk-ish bad boy. I have to be OK on my own terms if I want to be happy, and so do you.

Through the years I’ve learned to analyze my motivations, both past, and present. I’ve asked myself, “why did you really want that <person/thing>? What was the motivation?” Here’s some answers:

“Because if I can get him it will prove that I’m important and lovable.”

“Because if I have that contouring stick people will think I’m pretty, and I’ll feel temporarily superior which will boost my self-esteem.”

“Because a thought made me feel bad and that thing/person will make me feel better, albeit temporarily.”

Questioning the motives that underlie my actions has been so damn valuable. Do it. Get a notebook and start being your own shrink. The answers you need are already there, you just need to do some self-reflecting. Be honest with yourself and I promise you, your life is going to change in incredible ways.

It’s not easy to crack open the vault, but once you understand why you chased so many bad boys, and why you bought all those contouring sticks, you’ll open the door to self-love and healing. And there’s some amazing stuff on the other side of that.