I like to think I’m a planner person. That is, I’ve gone through most of my life with the idea that if I bought the right kind of planner–organized in a certain way with the correct categories–then I would have no choice but to start great habits and have an awesome life.

Yes, this was utter silliness. I even knew it was at the time, but it’s like going to Disney World. You want to believe in the magic.

It was similar to the if-I-have-the-right-journal-and-writing-instrument-combination-I-will-of-course-write-a-bestseller train of thought (which I also suffered from).

So, I bought a lot of planners, guided journals, and workbooks. I got a shiver of glee at the first empty page with questions to answer and goals to fill in.

I’d start out with determination and purpose, dutifully filling in each line, coloring in symbols, and checking boxes. I tracked exercise, water, food, writing sessions, books I read, and any other healthy habit I could think of. Every time I started, I jumped all in and tried to change everything I was frustrated about my life all at once. I know you know I’m not going to say “and it worked! I changed everything and live a golden, glorious life and everything is amazing!”

Of course not. I would do well for the first week, maybe even two. Then I would start to slip. I would make excuses not to do the habits, like ‘I’m so tired from work, so I’m just going to sit and watch TV for half an hour instead of go for a walk.’ Then the 30 minutes turned into four hours of mindless television and I would just go to bed. Eventually, I stopped tracking the habits, because it was depressing to track something I wasn’t doing. And every day I’d feel more and more guilty about it. Until eventually the planner got put into a drawer and forgotten about so I didn’t have to feel bad about myself for a while.

And then life would get out of control. I would gain wait, spend excessive amounts of money on things I didn’t need, or be so miserable at work I’d shut myself in my office to cry for hours. I would wonder, ‘how do I fix this? Of course, the perfect planner!’ And it would start all over again.

Yes, I am an idiot. But, I like to think, in a charming way, like the squirrel who performs the most outrageous gymnastics to try to break into our birdfeeders every day.

As I was decluttering and organizing this month, I found all these trackers, one for almost every year around this time. I hadn’t noticed that I always started them in the spring, usually right after my birthday. But of course, it made sense. Every time I got a year older, I would feel anxious and insecure about what was messy in my life and all that I hadn’t yet accomplished. I would feel the weight so fiercely that I would dive right in to change it all, so that by the next year, I would finally be happy and meet my birthday with resolve and peace, not claws out and screeching, like my cat getting shoved in her crate to go to the vet.

I also knew I was repeating the cycle again. And bigger than every, since I had just turned 30. I remember sitting at a table in the dining hall at college when I was 18 and writing down all the things I was going to accomplish before I turned 30. I had hardly touched most of them. Though, to be fair, ‘having tea with Taylor Swift’ was a lofty expectation (does drinking champagne and sobbing while watching Miss Americana for the fifth time count?). That is what sparked my decluttering and organizing frenzy in the first place. So I could feel in control again and wipe away the past decisions I was ashamed of. Mostly, all the things I bought to soothe anxiety attacks after my aunt died and then the world fell under the shadow of a massive pandemic.

I am not in the ‘through’ yet. I am not coming to you from the other side with sage advice, telling you what I did that worked. But I did learn what not to do.

Yesterday, I was PMSing like crazy. I wanted to chisel a brick out of the library wall and throw it at something. I hated that feeling, because I know it’s my hormones, not me. Instead of indulging in my regular ways of dealing–shopping or ice cream or crying or complaining to myself about how awful everything was–I pulled up a 20 minute yoga practice on YouTube aimed at people feeling restless and not in control. Keep in mind, I hadn’t done yoga in 6 years, despite this channel being the first thing on my favorites bar that entire time. But, it worked. I felt better. It helped me shift into another good habit of eating well and drinking water that day, because I had stopped feeling like crap and didn’t want to start again.

The previous, planner-obsessed part of me would have then made a goal of doing yoga every day, which I would of course never stick to and inevitable disappoint myself. So I didn’t do that. But I am starting slowly now. Writing this blog is already helping. I’m no longer forcing myself into a habit of writing each day because I said so, I’m writing because I know it will make me feel better when I come out the other side. I’m taking my habits one by one and being more gentle and we’ll see what happens.

All right, it’s time to get bed! Adequate sleep is the one great habit I have mastered in the last five years. Good night, fellow Babblers!