Why am I still insecure about such small things?

You’d think petty self-doubts wouldn’t bother me anymore. BUT THEY DO.

An audio version of this article (narrated by me, not a robot) is available here:

Last year was a big one: I had a baby, turned 40, and had cancer. When it comes to everyday nonsense nowadays my give-a-shit-ometer should be at zero. Does it involve completing a decade, giving birth or dodging death? Then no! I don’t care. And yet I do. I still care so much about petty rudenesses and insecurities that it genuinely affects my life.

I still care what strangers think. I still want to be liked – even by people who I don’t like. I still feel sad if I’m not invited to something – even if it’s something that I wouldn’t want to go to. I still read bad comments or reviews of my work and want to disappear in a puff of shame. I still feel vulnerable and embarrassed when freelance pitches are flat-out ignored. I still brush-off compliments and beautiful moments in favour of dwelling on insults that pinch and scratch.

When people reach a milestone or go through something huge, you might hear them say, “I don’t worry about the little things anymore,” or, if they’re American, “I don’t sweat the small stuff”. Well, I do. I worry and sweat about it all – and the more I worry, the more I sweat. It’s a vicious sweaty circle. Under my arms. (TMI?)

I survived Stage 3 cancer with a newborn baby and yet still care if Steve from Slough doesn’t like one of my books. (COME BACK, STEVE! I SWEAR I’LL DO BETTER.) It’s profoundly frustrating, annoying and yes, embarrassing. Surely one of the silver linings of getting older and/or experiencing big shit, should be giving much less of a shit about everything else?

Apparently not.

Not my care-o-meter

Some forms of caring are good, of course. Charity and all that. Being a good person, yadda yadda yadda. Sure, but I’m talking about the kind of caring that makes you sad and anxious. That stops you from doing things. That chips away at your self-esteem. That inhibits your creativity and willingness to be vulnerable. That makes you second guess. That makes you feel ashamed in a quiet way.

I was speaking to my friend, Corinne, about this recently – how surely some stuff simply shouldn’t matter anymore? – and she replied: “It’s like the realisation when you go backpacking and expect to become a completely different (more enlightened and somehow open-minded?) person when you’re living in a hostel in Pai – but then find out you’re still the same old dick who fannies about procrastinating and watching Netflix, just while wearing elephant pants.”

I am the same old dick, just older and with more scars.

Wherever you go, there you are

There’s that saying, “wherever you go, there you are”. It’s attributed to Confucius, but came to prominence via mindfulness legend Jon Kabat-Zinn. It means that we can run from ourselves or trick ourselves into thinking that an experience will make us an entirely different person, but unless we do the work to absorb how we feel and why we feel it, we’ll still be the same old dick wearing elephant pants.

We have to make peace with ourselves, forgive ourselves and care for ourselves – and that takes time and it takes work.

Eugh.

I figured that the chemotherapy would obliterate all of my insecurities as well as the tumour – and it didn’t. Of course it didn’t. The fact that I constantly find myself tripping over the same old obstacles that have always gotten in my way is normal. There is no miracle cure for deeply-held negative beliefs. I still have to actively work at making peace with myself and with what happened, actively reminding myself of my strengths and good bits when feeling low. And hey, I’ve written books on how to do exactly that, so I have no excuse.

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The fact that 2024 didn’t reconfigure my entire personality, making me incredibly confident, enlightened and worldly-wise is annoying, but actually isn’t such a bad thing. Firstly, because the person I’ve just described sounds like an insufferable twat, and secondly, because I wouldn’t be me. I have to accept that some of the things about myself of which I’m not a fan will always be there – but I can change the way I manage the fallout. I can stop beating myself up for caring about things that are scarred deeply into my sense of self-worth and instead understand that acknowledging them is an important first step in healing.

I did wear elephant pants

I went solo travelling in 2018 (if you listen carefully you’ll be able to hear my friends muttering, “Oh, did you? I had no idea! Do tell us more!”) and it took ages for me to realise quite what a profound affect the experience had on me. It utterly changed my life. (That trip is the reason I have a Dutch parter and live in Amsterdam with him and our baby, for one thing.) Yet, there was no eureka moment, no single instance of shining clarity. I didn’t see the light or start a cult. Processing what had happened and what it all meant was a slow and gradual process – and so shall it be again now, as long as I stay open to it.

What we go through does mould and shape us, but maybe not in the ways we expect or perhaps even want. Meaningful events may make us grateful, compassionate, empathetic, brave and self-assured, yet they may also lead us to dip a toe in cynicism, self-doubt, fear and bitterness. I assumed having gotten through last year, I would care less about small slights and rudenesses, and that I would be much less harsh on myself. Yet, so far, no cigar. (Is that a saying or have I just totally made it up? In which case, bravo me!) Yet, I do believe that I have probably changed in more fundamental and significant ways – ways that I haven’t even realised yet.

Resilience is a funny beast, after all. You can’t demand it, you have to earn it.

The one time I wasn’t wearing elephant pants

Just One More Thing

If you’ve been through something, or passed a milestone, and expected to experience a moment of profound clarity about who you are and what you’re meant to do with your life… and it hasn’t arrived, that’s okay. We’re all muddling along the best we can using what we know now. We won’t even realise how much we have actually changed for the better until years later when we look back at the choices we went on to make and the chances we went on to take with pride. It’s something to look forward to.

Thanks so much for reading or listening to Just One More Thing. If any of this struck a chord with you, please do share, leave a like and comment or consider buying me a coffee. I really appreciate it all!

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*Exceedingly modest reminder that I have written eight bestselling mental-health books which have been translated into dozens of languages. I’ve also written a book about the TV show Friends which would make a delightful gift for any Friends obsessives. All are available to buy online or at your local bookshop.