Just Do It

A toxic trait of mine is overthinking anything, and then not doing it.

I’m starting to think it’s a personality glitch. That, the gray matter of my brain believes, in order to do anything, it must be done well. First time. Or, it shan't be done. That it will not be worth it. Also, there is never enough time. Or, is this perfectionist/overthinking mindset a product of my environment, what I have been told by cultural norms over time of what it means to be a “good girl”? Perhaps it’s a mix of hybrid confusion. Either way, I’m realizing this more so lately and thinking, how can I get past it?

Just. Do. It. The hit slogan from Nike was truly on to something. The notion behind the saying is quite clear. Get it done. Start moving. Begin the project. Tackle the problem. Have the conversation. How much time do we spend agonizing internally over the issue at hand? Then, when we finally do delve in, the satisfaction in having completed that task is second-to-none.

This can be extrapolated to any area of life, really. Take my morning, for example. Our dinner dishes from the prior evening were not done and breakfast was cooked this AM. Translation: a huge sink full of dirty bowls, plates, pans, utensils. Also, the dishwasher was full of items to unload and tuck away to their proper places inside the cabinetry. Three kids to get off to school. Lunches. Water bottles. (Why are they always lost, by the way?) Stray papers on the counter, waiting to learn if they make the backpack cut for academics that day. Shoes. Where are the shoes?! Where are the shoes every day of my life? If my life were a t-shirt in this era, it would be “Where are your shoes?”

I thought to myself, “That is way too much to get done before making gym class…Nah. I’ll do it later.” Then, I walked around the kitchen a couple of times, agonizing if I was going to throw away my child’s craft project from school, even though I had developed a solution for that long ago (Qeepsake – photo book of their creations, toss the actual products, so you don’t end up with a storage unit full of your children’s crap that you try to offload on them at the age of 22, to which they respond by making a Tiktok about how crazy you are). Then, I worried over adding the “mediocre” project to the book, because printing gets very expensive, the more pages there are, and will the kids actually care or look at a piece of art that is simply articulating how many letters are in their first and last name? Then, the item continued to rest atop the counter, and I wondered to myself why it is always cluttered.

Back to the dishes. Something inside my head clicked. Just DO THEM. You have the time. Get it done. Starting is the hardest part. Opening the dishwasher to begin the task. Putting on your shoes to go for a walk. Opening your mouth to ask your partner to talk. Finding your password to log into the site to check your policy. Opening the document to type the first few words.

Once I started unloading the dishwasher, I remembered a profound phrase that repeatedly helps me as well: “One thing at a time.” One moment at a time. Throughout life, I’ve heard comments such as “Women are great multitaskers,” and “You can juggle it,” and “We keep everything together, running smoothly.” My brain has translated this to “Try to do everything, and quickly, now. No time to waste.”

Then, that feeling of rushing creeps in. Which, by the way, is currently trending on the interwebs because some study dropped saying that a primary component of childhood anxiety is parents rushing them too often.

I kept at it with the dishes, gathering the plates, stacking the cups. Before I knew it, the washer was empty and I could move on to clearing the drying rack.

“I rush my children every day,” I think to myself, now wondering the extent of psychological damage that has retrospectively been done. Then, shrug, because I also know another study will come out next week refuting the evidence revealed in this one.

The drying rack is cleared of clutter and I can begin the arduous task of yesterday’s dinner dishes. My back has been sending warning signals lately, that it may be in danger of giving out on me. Always the same area. Always that right, lower side. I begin to wonder if it’s a chronic issue related to a previous stress fracture to the hip area for which I underwent surgery in my early twenties. I wonder if there is anything that can be done for it, other than the required daily stretching that has been proven to help me but I have not fully committed to. I worry that bending to load the washer will damage me beyond repair, and with my partner out of town for a few days, how unfortunate that would be. I do it anyway, systematically rinsing plates and cups and lunch containers and stacking them in their appropriate nook inside the racks of the washer. Of course, there is a correct way to load the washer. Before I know what has happened, the dish task is done, my back is intact, and I have fifteen minutes before I have to leave for the gym.

Following multiple exhausting, repetitive, spiraling thoughts in which I considered tackling quite literally everything but the kitchen sink, I finally just did it. And I gotta say, it felt great.

Just do it.

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