I’m the first to admit my flaws and point out my shortcomings. I do it first (before you have a chance to). I do it loudly (to underscore my awareness of their existence).
Dumb Domme… it’s how I introduced myself to you.
It’s not that I honestly believe I’m dumb (or stupid, uneducated, senseless, thoughtless, generally ignorant, etc.). It’s that I fear I might be. And just in case I am, I’ll be the one to say it first.
My admissions are preemptive self-defense against insecurity — I set expectations low and reinforce them often.
I’m not good at this, I’m clumsy, I lack experience, skill, and grace.
I’m overly invested, I’m obsessive, I’m excessively focused.
I’m unsure, I’m indecisive, I’m insecure.
I feel too much, I feel too little, I feel wrong.
I’m too selfish, I’m too selfless, I’m too self-centered.
Those statements aren’t always true, nor are they true to the degree I represent them. (Forget the fact that half of them conflict).
But as antecedent strikes against the fear of possessing undesirable qualities and shame over exhibiting them, I belt my shortcomings loudly and often. I shout them from the rooftops. (I put them in the title of my blog.) I admit to ‘flaws’ so frequently that I begin to question their grounding in reality.
If you repeat something long enough, you begin to believe it. My admissions have become a destructive sort of mantra, and I fear they’re self-fulfilling.
Of the ‘flaws,’ ‘shortcomings,’ and ‘quirks’ that I admit to, overthinking† is one I cite the most.
I think about the little things. I think about the wrong things.
I can’t simply accept something without pulling it apart, examining
it’s pieces, it’s exigence, and it’s potential consequence.
I think too much. I’ve said it in posts, in responses to readers’ comments, and in my own responses to writers elsewhere.
It’s an admission of (an excuse for?) who I am. It’s an explanation of my enjoyment — I like to poke at things. It’s an apology (in advance) if I poke too much or too hard. It’s an a priori excuse for being thoughtful, or invested, or curious, or different, or female, or sensitive, or any of the other million things I make unnecessary apologies for.
It’s begging your forgiveness for things that don’t require forgiving… as if being thoughtful and curious are characteristics that demand apology.
I admit that my curiosity and overthinking is sometimes inconvenient. It does (sometimes) undermine my happiness. It might (sometimes) complicate yours.
But in general, I’m thankful to be the way I am. I think it makes my life richer — my thoughts more vivid, my emotions more intense, and my experiences more meaningful for it. I’m grateful my curiosity allows me to find meaning where it might have been otherwise overlooked. I’m grateful I can make meaning where there is none.
That added meaning comes with benefits and costs — the highs are higher, and the lows are lower, too.
My overthinking isn’t something I can change, and despite its sometimes inconvenience, I’m not sure I want to.
Is it silly to find value in such a thing? Is it dumb?
But it’s nothing you didn’t already know about me… because it’s nothing I haven’t already admitted.
† overthink, v: “To consider or ponder too hard or too seriously; to think too much about” (OED). Or, to engage in ‘too much’ of any/all of the following: analysis, brooding, contemplation, deliberation, examination, ideation, introspection, meditation, musing, pondering, speculation, study, reflection, rumination, etc.