39. half assed

Confession: I half-assed my writing yesterday.

It might not seem that way, because I wrote a lot. But it was doing double duty from the notes I was taking for school in a class on shadow and the soul, and my inner rule-maker (whose energy is that of my eight year old self in the classroom) says that’s cheating. 

Why does she say that? 

Why, as I was crashing into bed at 12:30am after six hours of back to back classes for my master’s program, a full day of clients and admin work, solid workout, morning parenting and lunch making, two loads of laundry folding, dog walking, and every other task I did yesterday, WHY was I feeling that it was not enough? 

As I was brushing my teeth, re-reading what I wrote (I’m my own biggest fan), I muttered to myself and spat in the sink. 

“Half-assed.”

I observed the harshness of my judgment.

Let me get this straight, self. You think to be full-assed and good enough, you need to reinvent the wheel every day, or every HOUR? You think you need to create entirely original content for each space you inhabit? Sounds like shadow work to me.

What’s so bad about being half-assed, anyway? Is creating constant pressure to be full-assed a good way to care for the soul? Is it honoring capacity? Does pushing yourself to be full-assed honestly and lovingly observe what is present, with curiosity, compassion, and non-judgment?

No. The pressure for full-time, full-assed doing is not really me. It's just internalized capitalism telling me that productivity and performance is the key determinant of my worth.

So I remind myself that this writing project is for me, first, and it’s about practice and process, not about performance. 

I get to give and show however much ass I want. My ass, my choice. That’s a good rule for life, too. If people want more ass, that’s their deal. How much ass I put in is mine. 

Honestly, any assessment (see what I did there?) may be inaccurate anyway, because it's hard to really see your own ass. Trying to get a full and complete gaze of your own posterior is tricky, unless you’re an owl, that is. It’s kinda like shadow work that way: we can't see what's outside our field of vision.

So maybe instead of trying to contribute ample derriere, and determining success based on a harsh external gaze, I can just feel how much booty-power I'm giving to any particular endeavor. 

The song says, “I know that you can do it, put your back into it” but sometimes my back can only put so much in. I mean, I’m 39, I’ve had two pregnancies, I lift weights every day and don’t stretch enough, and I broke some vertebrae surfing 12 years ago. My back isn’t what it used to be. 

So today I’m giving my ass grace. Instead of deciding that editing my school notes into my own exploratory narrative is half-assing it, I’m going to celebrate that I knew just how much ass I could give at 12:03am, and I gave what I wanted to.

As I write, I’m noticing that my inner 8 year old nerd-bully-boss is sitting quietly, listening. 

I was talking to a client the other day about the ADHD brain (mine, anyway) and the tendency to shame myself for perceived half-assing. 

It goes like this: I throw myself into a project with enthusiasm and energy, fueled by novelty, variety, and dopamine, but when I get to the 70-80% mark, a strange thing happens. Time warps, my brain starts melting, and the once rapid-fire pace of my mental cylinders slow to a stop. Distractions and rabbit trails take on a sparkly sheen, shiny things everywhere but where I’m meant to finish the thing. 

So often, I don’t, and I go with whatever my 80% effort version is - but inside, in the secret place, I know it’s not actually done. It’s half-assed and it could be better. Because of this, I struggle to put my whole heart into sharing it, selling it, or continuing with it (even though it’s STILL REALLY GOOD). 

What arises in this process is shame - the familiar shame of neurodivergent beings who are told they have ‘so much potential’ - to which their inner narrator adds “they mean you could do more.”

More. More Monster. Maybe it’s the More Monster who’s muttering “half-assed” as I brush my teeth, mentally spent, ready for bed, with no creative ass left to give. 

I take a big breath, and let out a deep sigh. 

You know, in a society obsessed with measurement and analysis, it’s a quiet act of rebellion and revolution to just feel your own ass, stop quantifying it, refuse to hold it to some arbitrary standard that a know-it-all 8 year old is trying to enforce, pat your More Monster on the head, say to yourself, “it’s enough,” and just move the fuck on with your life. 

May you carry this wisdom with you, as you walk through your day, and repeat aloud to yourself as needed: 

Half my ass is a fine and mighty bounty, and the world is blessed to receive it.