5 Reasons Why I Choose to Talk About My Problems

I don’t get small talk.

Hello.

Hello.

How are you?

I am fine. (I am not okay, and I haven’t been for a while. Life’s hard. But, I am aware of my problems and trying very hard to work on them. You can’t say that no one cares. No, saying that I am okay, is lying. This exchange is what is wrong with the world, all of us pretending to be fine when we are not. Pull yourself together, just say I am fine).

So, how’s life?

Umm, it’s okay. (Ahh, here we go again. I want to talk about what’s really going on. I want to tell you the truth. I don’t want to pretend anymore. I wish I had short, witty, succinct answers for such questions. Something that could describe exactly how I am feeling, but you know in fewer words.)

I’m not saying that I want to talk about my difficulties all the time or unload them on everyone who asks me how I am. I want to create a space to share my problems. I want to find the right time and place.

Why? Once again, I don’t have a fitting and short answer. But I do have a list.

1. I’m so tired of pretty montages.

I used to love montages in movies. They were gorgeous, inspiring, and communicated an abundance of detail in very little time. Growing up, I often dreamed of being in one. I sincerely wished to get out of a rut in style.

One morning, I will wake up on time, the sun will shine brightly, the birds will sing outside my window; I will take a big stretch and bounce out of my bed. In a big whoosh, all burdens will leave my body, and I will have an exceptional day.

Life has a wacky sense of humor about the things that we wish. Even if this is possible, I have never experienced this day, not once.

In my early adulthood, I started growing sick of this technique, especially when I spotted them in articles or stories.

The author would discuss their problems, dysfunctional patterns, and negative thoughts at a perfect pace, building up to a big reveal. Then the next sentence would be, “then one day, I realized that this was not okay, and things needed to change.”

These words used to crush my expectations. I wanted to request the author, “Wait, let’s back up, can you please elaborate? How did you come to this realization? When did you know that this was the right answer?

No, please don’t tell me that you just knew it. I want specific, step by step instructions for how you got out of the hole. Because I’m still stuck.”

Over time I stopped picturing myself in ideal montages. Instead, I saw myself battling the obstacles, day after day until I’ve won. At times it took me years to fight something.

And I still had to carry my learnings and realizations with me for the rest of my life. I needed to practice them every day.

When I started writing, I wanted to share my stories of war. The course of the battle, along with setbacks, fatigue, and the impending sense of doom, form the exciting part, not the end.

I want you to know that it has not been easy. Hard doesn’t even begin to describe it. But it is possible, and it’s worth it.

2. There’s such a thing as too much perfection.

Everywhere I look, things are flawless. The bed-making tutorial, which could put a hotel to shame, the organized desk that looks like Marie Condo blessed it herself.

The travel pictures that are better than my imagination of paradise. The incredibly toned body in a gym selfie and the many gorgeous images of food.

I, too, am guilty of indulging in this concept for a long time. When I quit social media in 2018, I realized the damage that this obsession with perfection was doing to me.

Its effect was much more significant than I could ever imagine. These perfect images stuck in my mind, and my real, imperfect life continuously paled in comparison.

I don’t want to be a consumer of this ideal content anymore. I want to see a picture of burnt food, and not in a quirky #pinterestfail post; I want to know what you felt when hours of your effort went down the drain.

How did you heal yourself when your travel expectations did not match reality? I want to know about your days when you can’t get out of bed. I want to see the behind the scenes footage, the real-life, that could perhaps connect you and me.

My life’s messy. It’s filled with confusion, tons of trial and error, and pain. But it’s also beautiful. When I stopped chasing perfection, the little things started mattering to me, more. I began to see situations as they are, and not just in comparison to what they should have been.

I want to talk about the messy bits. These are the most vital pieces that make up the puzzle of my life. A day where I navigated through several challenges, is much more worthy of sharing than one where everything went my way.

Why? Because it shows the real me. I fight, I give up, and then I try again. This sentence just about sums up my existence.

“One of the basic rules of the universe is that nothing is perfect. Perfection simply doesn’t exist…..Without imperfection, neither you nor I would exist”― Stephen Hawking

3. Strength and endurance are not the same thing.

During my childhood, I learned the only acceptable definition of strength, and that was endurance. A strong person doesn’t cry, doesn’t talk about what’s bothering her, tolerates, sacrifices, keeps mum, and remains steady even during the most violent storms.

A strong person never complains because she is grateful for what little she has. By extension, she doesn’t discuss her problems on the internet.

I have always refused to accept this definition, but also struggled to find my own.

Years later, I realized that the people who were propagating this belief weren’t even enduring; they were keeping up appearances. Well, that’s a cakewalk, in my book. One can always choose to pretend as if nothing bothers them.

If things get too tricky, deflect blame on everyone and everything else and never look inward. Some people also find it easy to ridicule others for their display of emotions. And I don’t understand how any of this displays strength.

Do you know what’s hard? — Accepting that you have problems. Talking about them, showing vulnerability, and working on them takes immense strength. It takes courage, patience, hard work, and everything I have got.

Back then I didn’t have a voice, I mean I did, but no one listened. That’s not the case now. I can openly admit that I cry often.

I can give an honest account of my day: I had trouble focusing on my work; I fought self-doubt, sleep-deprivation, and anxiety. Now I am finally at peace as I am writing. My voice is loud and clear: I am vulnerable but also brave and strong. I am human.

I am not ending the conversation at listing my issues. I am also discussing the “why and how.” I share stories of lengthy, arduous journeys that I took to overcome them. I talk about how I motivate myself and disclose recipes that get me through the darkest of nights. I deserve to talk about them, and so do you.

4. Writing about them helps me heal.

Journaling allows me to get all my worries out. When I put pen to paper, I can retain a positive outlook and encourage, motivate, and improve myself. I am also able to discuss my problems with myself at length.

I realized that I didn’t allow myself to do so previously. I would automatically quicken the pace of my thought and swiftly move on to the next one as if somehow I was wasting my time. Fortunately, I don’t write very fast, which helps give my problems their due.

On the other hand, putting together a polished article helps me see things from a fresh perspective. It allows me to see the problem and its context, my journey, and learnings as a whole. Whenever I re-read these stories, I feel proud of myself, and that’s rare.

There’s something about the rhythm of words, the black on white, the random sentences that when strung together create an intense melody. Pouring my heart out through them has been therapeutic. Writing about my problems has given me more strength to share my story.

Earlier, I used to wonder whether my story was interesting enough. I didn’t know if I had anything unique to contribute.

Maybe my readers will think that I was pointlessly droning on and on for 2000 words about my issues. Now I don’t think so. My story is unique because it is mine, and I am going to tell it with honesty, courage, and determination.

I haven’t tasted success with my writing yet. What I feel about my work helps soften the blow when my articles don’t do well. In such moments, I remind myself that I am not doing this for the numbers.

Even if one person has read my article, felt something, related to my struggles, and has probably taken away learning or two, then it has been worth it.

5. I want to recreate the magic:

Some of the best pieces of writing that I have read so far are personal essays. They have constituted of writers sharing raw, untouched, and honest stories from their life.

Their storytelling grips me, and I instantly know that there’s something of immense value hidden amongst these words. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t skim through the article.

And what I felt while reading them was nothing short of magic. I was transported to a scene, an intriguing setting, and lost myself in it. I cried at their pain and rejoiced at their triumphs. In those few moments, I felt connected to the author, as if a thread of words had joined two souls.

These stories presented a different world, one that is not about perfect Instagram pictures. They showed a glimpse of reality: hard, gritty, and unrelenting. They talked about walking on the road, not taken.

They shared what it is like to live with mental health issues. They spoke of days that don’t seem to end. And they showed me powerful inward journeys, undertaken to take back control.

To know that someone has been through hell (especially one that I am familiar with) and back was an incredible feat. It was an undeniable display of hope. If they can survive it, then so can I.

I was already inspired to write my stories, but these pieces showed me the impact that good writing can have on a reader. They reminded me why it’s important to share your problems.

And little by little, bit by bit, I want to try to create this magic for my readers.

“I don’t believe in the kind of magic in my books. But I do believe something very magical can happen when you read a good book.”― J.K. Rowling

So, l am going to write about my problems.

The time is now, and the place is right here. I want to share stories from my life and read about yours.

I want to stop scratching the surface and dig a little deeper. I genuinely think that if we start being honest and talk about how we feel, we will realize that all is not well beneath this seemingly perfect picture. Then we can begin our individual yet collective processes of healing.

I want to find out that we are not all that different. Beneath our likes and dislikes of food and music, beyond our personality types, and in a land far far away from small talk, we are quite alike. We share hopes, dreams, sorrow, struggles, incomplete journeys, failures, anger, and pain.

Let’s talk about our problems.