I give a shit about a lot of shit.
It wouldn’t even be an exaggeration to say I give a lot of shits about a lot of shit. I care about a lot of stuff, and sometimes that’s overwhelming. It takes a lot of mental and emotional energy to check on my friends, commit to my work, tend to my home, and squeeze in some self love.
And I will admit that sometimes I care too much. Or, more accurately:
Sometimes, I don’t manage my caring well. And sometimes, that mismanagement is overwhelming.
I know I need to care better—better for myself, and better for the things and people of which I am caring. But for the love of sweating on a beach too close to hundreds of strangers, stay the fuck home.
Oh, and stop telling me Let that shit go, because you’re not using it right.
Caring isn’t an on/off switch; on the contrary, I don’t have a switch. I have a fucking dimmer that starts at CARING and goes all the way up to EVEN MORE CARING.
I don’t know how to stop caring so much that, even after cutting ties with a toxic individual years ago (after two counts of personal offence), I still check their Facebook every few months to make sure they’re okay.
That is how caring works.
Don’t misunderstand—there is Good in letting go. I have let go of that friendship, and it is Good. But letting go isn’t a shrugged shoulder, isn’t a detaching, isn’t a fucking off switch.
It is not a burning of paper with your secret on it.
It is not a leaving of your heavy rock in the wild.
Letting go is acceptance, not rejection.
It is understanding that what I am feeling or thinking or doing or saying is not serving me or anyone around me, and so I choose to accept something else that will.
Please, for the love of trees, understand that letting go is one of the most caring things you can do.
Mary's One Hundred 