I RESENT PEOPLE WHO LIVE WITH EASE
I have this intense resentment for people who put in so little and still succeed—not because I don’t think they deserve to succeed but because I barely let myself have that privilege.
It’s generational, honestly.
Anxiety, trying too hard, working to the bone—it’s something that has been passed down to me through nature and nurture.
My mother is the type of woman to work till she falls ill, literally. You see it in her hands; they are rough and calloused, with cuts from kitchen knives.
Mine are softer, but they haven’t escaped the cuts of the kitchen knife. “It’s a normal pain for every woman,” so says my mother.
I am the first and only daughter in a Nigerian household.
If you know, you know, and if you don’t—people like me are born with the weight of the world on their shoulders.
I can vividly remember being yelled at, at the ripe age of twelve, for not knowing how to sweep a house till it was spotless.
The first time I came 10th in class, my mother told me she was disappointed in me—which is a better reaction than when she yelled at me for coming second because she knew I could have come first.
At the age of twenty-one, I was called lazy for not creating a meal plan, cooking, and cleaning up after a family comprising five adults and two children.
But I can’t Complain Can I?
This isn’t to say that my life has been a cesspool of struggle. I come from a lower middle-class home, and I am privileged in many ways. My dad is a professor; my mother is a teacher—that comes with its perks.
And I would say that my ancestors and guardian angels are quite competent. I am still here, aren’t I? Luck is almost always on my side.
Ease, on the other hand, is something that I haven’t yet figured out—getting things without wrecking every bone in my body.
Ease
Absence of difficulty or effort.
I have this intense resentment for people who put in so little and still succeed—not because I don’t think they deserve to succeed but because I have never had that privilege.
Back in uni, my roommate never seemed to stress over exams; she would lay in bed reading casually, not a book or pen in sight, and then she would mostly fall asleep. Then she would wake up, study a little, and call it a night.
I, on the other hand? I needed caffeine and Coke, a notepad, a pen, YouTube videos, and I pulled all-nighters all through exam seasons.
And you guessed right—she did quite well.
I did quite well; we left school with almost the same CGPA.
And no, I am not comparing myself to her or saying she doesn’t deserve her grades, but Lord, I wish I didn’t have to work so hard.
I wish I could put in the same effort as she did, but I literally cannot because I know that I’ll be leaving with a truckload of F’s.
My hard work and inability to calm the fuck down have yielded positives—this article being written at 10:52 pm. Mind you, I am sleep-deprived.
I slept at 4 am yesterday, and I was up by 9 am today, and I spent all the day doing housework, laundry, prepping for cooking, and obsessively scrolling to see if my Americans are truly leaving the clock app (fuck everyone involved, btw).
It’s also the reason I am a decently paid freelancer, the reason I was able to afford a mini self-contained apartment in school, and the reason I am preparing to move to a new state.
But from the depths of my soul, I am tired of working too hard. I am tired of anxiety, the restlessness, the way I set my body up—consciously and unconsciously—to be pushed to the limit.
What is the frequency of ease?
Flow
A steady, continuous stream or supply of something.
I don’t know how to calm the fuck down. For most of my days, I am hyper-fixated on something that tires me out.
When I am not tired out, I am anxious or I am working.
It’s a state that I haven’t felt for years. It comes and goes in flashes, and most days it never comes.
There is so much to do; there is so little time—that’s what I tell myself. But after stressing myself and my soul out, I realize that there is actually a lot of time—more than enough time if you don’t confine yourself to your mind.
The theme of my year is ease, it’s at the heart of every goal of mine. I want to learn how to take things easy, nice, and slow. Being optimal—20% effort that yields 80% result type of energy.
I want to think of my body, honour my body, and connect to it.
I want to be that person who chooses the easy way, especially when it’s the optimal way.
But the easy way is something I have always resented. Thus, an internal battle between a tired body and a zesty soul wants to do it honourably and perfectly.
I love being hardworking and hyper-focused, and a 100% girl, but 100% every day drains you.
It’s 2%, 4%, even 0% days spent in quiet ease and bare minimum survival shit that give you strength for the locked-in shit.
I resent those who never have to go on this journey of learning ease. Because do you know how easy you have it?
Hi besties, I usually post girl kisser stories but today, I decided to switch it up.
I have lots of stories coming up, just trying to hack this consistency thing.
Till next week, see ya besties.
👏👏👏👏