On Hating, Embracing, And Trying To Undo Becoming A Basic Bitch

When I first heard the phrase ‘basic bitch’, I instantly despised the entire concept of yet another tactic of shaming women. We experience pressure from all angles, and the idea of slating those not subscribing to the performative ideals imposed on us personally deflated me. I’ll freely admit to holding myself to impossibly high standards and then feeling low when I couldn’t reach them, any degree of positive progress was never good enough if it was any less than perfect- something I encourage others to let go of. I think maybe on some level, I felt so irked by the basic bitch tag because that’s how I viewed myself.

Then something completely flipped in a situation where normally my self created perfection overlord would slam me down. Editing has always been an issue for me and for the main, the most important pieces I’ve written are long form and difficult for me to simplify while still maintaining an elegance in the message I most want to convey. I had an editor respond with interest for a well paid, or at least the highest paid offer I’d had, on something that was a personal experience I really wanted to write about. The problem though was that the word count was a mere seven hundred words which even those sophisticated in a succinct style would not be able to condense it all down to meet the restrictive target. It took several frustrating hours, much panic, and confusion, but eventually I cut the word count down by half, submitted it apologetically, switched off the computer and felt awful. It was not what I wanted to write by a long shot, I felt it to be a wasted opportunity, and much to It was not what I wanted to write by a long shot, and much to my dismay it was a basic bitch article.

Suddenly it clicked with me why so many well paid journalists were writing pieces that baffled me in their simplicity, articles I thought were half assed and resented their high pay cheques. I was swamped by the sinking realisation my writing, my first potential of getting paid for a story I wanted to tell MY WAY, was lost because I had become the most basic of bitches.

Once I acknowledged that though something started to stir in me. It was the run up to Xmas and I was flat out busy every day, far beyond what my disabled and broken body was capable of. I craved the end of day reward of sticking on my fuzzy dressing gown and slippers to switch off from the world more and more. Mounting obligation clashed with agony and exhaustion, and soon the most basic of tasks, even getting up for the bathroom or picking something I dropped off the floor became overwhelming. To use an Irish phrase- the bang of effort off everything became huge.

I love to cook and am skilled enough to whip up something tasty in minutes but instead I took to microwaving eggs for dinner. Instead of trying to put on nice clothes, I pulled whatever came out first from the wardrobe and comfy shoes, no longer caring about how I looked, something I would normally feel hugely uncomfortable about if it wasn’t of a certain standard. Having landed a place I’m truly grateful for after so long being homeless, I would normally gladly dedicate a few hours once a week for a deep clean that left every inch of it sparkling, but all cleaning became a pathetic wipe down. I take huge pleasure and pride in neatly and lovingly wrapping presents, but it was such a major hassle the gifts looked as though they had been wrapped by the toddlers they were for. Messages were dodged, meet ups cut down to only the most essential, and I’m sorry to anyone I did see for the purely dull conversation I could only muster.

The most easy of tasks became major endeavours, daunting even to think about never mind do, and ended up not being able to be classed ‘good enough’, but marginally passable. I became anxious because I was so exhausted that I was I became anxious because I was so exhausted that I was scared about going to the shops because it was so draining. Even the nightly rituals of taking meds before bed, brushing my teeth and the other tasks, filled me with terror because I just didn’t feel I had the energy to get through them without dropping. I initially resented that I was such a basic bitch but it became liberating, the no longer caring lifting a huge weight that I simply was not fit to carry. I did not have the energy to try but acknowledging, and dare I say accepting that, allowed me to fully embrace and even enjoy being a basic bitch.

The non-stop pushing led me to crash, coming down with a horrible viral thing that led me to have to cancel all Xmas plans.The non-stop pushing led me to crash, coming down with a horrible viral thing that led me to have to cancel all Xmas plans. I needed to sleep all the time, and any time I was awake I was in searing pain, struggling to breathe, at actual risk with every step of falling down every time I moved. The emergency state lasted weeks and I still have immense fatigue, but my energy is now back to being spent kicking my own ass to be better, to do better, and be more than the person I became. Massive writer’s block had gripped me for so long, but now the voices of so many people who judged me for not being able to do much due to be disabled are lurking in the shadows of my mind.

I’m struggling to write, or at least write anything good, but I’m revising old work, back furiously submitting pitches for all it’s worth. My body is weak and overall feeling like it’s lacking so I’m trying to cram more fruit and veg in, things I genuinely enjoy and don’t feel deprived by eating, but had massively fallen behind on. I want to dye my hair again, a job I hate seeing as it involves much attention span to evenly apply multiple colours for my vibrant pink, purple, blue and green ombré, but feel much better about once it’s done. I’m trying to do the longer exercise videos and not the bare minimum stretches, even if I have still have yet to learn to respect my limits to stop doing more than I can. I’m trying to keep in touch with friends and be more mindful of how I speak rather than the babbling and often inappropriate human lottery I can be when I’m punched in the face tired. The point, I suppose, is that I’m trying again.

By all means, be whatever person you want to be, whether that’s driven, outgoing, or THE most glorious basic bitch you want to be. Relish in who you are, accept who you are, only do what you’re capable of instead of driving yourself into the ground. Do all the things you want or allow yourself to relinquish into inertia, but please dear just don’t judge anyone for who they are, the person they need to be in the moment, how much they do or can’t manage. Some effort is better than none, and sometimes no effort is the best rescue you can give yourself. Love the liberty you can find in being basic should you find yourself needing to be and the state of being you’re in whatever that may be.