I confess that in therapy today, I realized that one of the reasons I allow myself to get so anxious is because I feel some kind of virtue from anxiety. Because anxiety means I care. I care a whole lot. I care more than anybody because I am making myself miserable with worry. And therefore I am good, because I care so much. I need to work on this.
I confess I am having a day where I don't feel like doing anything, and I have been having those a lot lately. I confess that I am still going to make cheese, go to the dance studio, read a little, and at least begin a new story. Because I hate feeling unproductive.
I confess my kitchen is a disgusting mess and I just can't be bothered to clean it, even though it's interfering with my eating habits because I can't really cook anything right now.
I confess it's easier to accept all these things about myself rather than judging myself for them.