Some may want to call me out on the claim that I struggle with perfectionism based on the seemingly rushed, throwaway, or insignificant posts on this site. A place I want to turn into a meaningful part of my career.
I tell myself these types of posts are all building toward a future reset where everything clicks and shines with magic. The current posts soothe my brain by achieving a daily streak, providing a balm of productivity and control. One day, the site will be the home of raining Skittles and dancing unicorns with nothing but perfection dripping from every corner.
The relaunch promises things will be done right.
The normal way.
The neurotypical way.
But that version of “normal” isn’t real for me.
I'm neurodivergent, always will be, no matter how many resets.
If I create consistently, it’s going to be messy. It’s going to be uneven. It’s going to break whatever invisible rules I think I’m supposed to follow.
I was struck by a realization that’s been sitting quietly underneath all of this:
My obsession with resetting isn’t really about improving my work.
It’s about trying to become someone I’ll never be.
The people who connect with my writing wouldn’t want that version of me anyway.
Everything I’ve built from my voice, the perspective, the weirdness, the honesty, comes from the way my brain is wired.
Resetting is denying who I am, and how I create.
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