Is anyone else absolute shit at quitting things?

I have been ghosting things before ghosting was a thing. I’m the OG ghoster.

I have Michael Jackson moon-walked out of situations I didn’t maturely know how to leave for years.

Like, I could list them, but it’d lead to a shame spiral, so let’s just say: jobs, friendships, obligations with friends, probably that dinner you asked me to go to once, but I didn’t want to put pants on, so I told you my kid was sick.

Stuff like that.

I’ve lost relationships and job references out of fear of saying no or being honest, and I accepted that as a side effect of my rampant fear and anxiety.

I mean, what if I didn’t even deserve friends or success or that warm feeling of accomplishing something from beginning to end?

Jesus, Brittany. I have many, many, things to be embarrassed about in my life, and this sort of thing is easily top three.

I’m not really sure why I am such a bad quitter.

I am really uncomfortable with being emotional, so maybe it’s a little of that. I hate crying in front of others, and avoid sad movies at all costs.

I still haven’t forgiven Gigi for swearing up and down nothing sad happens in A Wrinkle in Time, and I hysterically sobbed the entire movie. Like, I had to leave the theater and gather myself in the hall, and an old man walked by asking if I’d just gotten bad news or needed help, and I was like, no, Mrs. Which is just so beautiful and kind, you know, like to all the children in all the world? and he was like, no, I’m here watching Fifty Shades Freed for the second time with my wife.

I also hate confrontation, I hate leaving the house… actually, this quitting thing is becoming less and less of a mystery the more I type.

Being a bad quitter is something I have been actively trying to work on over the last few years in my “adult career.”

I’ve gone outside my comfort zone to have honest and pro-active conversations with book publishers and fashion brands. I can’t even order a pizza over the phone, and opt for the second best pizza in town because they offer online ordering, even though the one I’d have to call on the phone is seriously way better, and yet I sit in boardrooms in New York all adult and shit talking about ROI, organic campaigns, and size advocacy. Don’t get me wrong, I have raging panic diarrhea the whole time still, but I mean, I’m showing up in pants like an adult.

I’m learning that the fall out from handling something openly and clearly is so much less of a shit storm then just ducking out and hiding until people forget you exist. But more importantly, I’m learning that the reasons I’ve always been afraid to actually give, are perfectly acceptable and valid reasons, and no one gets to tell you otherwise.

I’m tired. I’m worried. I am not the one for this job. This isn’t the right fit. I don’t have enough spoons. I am compromising too much of myself. My kids need me. I need me. I don’t want to. I don’t want to. I don’t want to. 

All valid things.

So, let’s talk about camp.

Eight camps ago, I launched Camp Throwback on this blog, never expecting anyone to actually want to go once, let alone eight times.

I was wrong, camp grew from a fun blog idea to a monster in absolutely no time, going from a once-a-summer fling, to a twice a summer staple.

Camp was the I’m Okay, Your’e Okay place I’d always dreamed of, it was sold-out every session, and I met some of my lifelong people in those cabins.

So why stop?

Because it no longer fit; the years of planning, the responsibility, the unknown, the time away from my kids it required.

Everyone tells you little kids are harder, and they are in the sense that you have to do everything for them and keep them alive. But they are also easier to leave. You just leave their caretakers with a car seat and a list of allergies, and off you go to your other obligations.

Older kids, while awesomer in the sense that they now take an active role in their survival (it’s like 70/30), suck in that they come with their own obligations. I’m not leaving my parents with a car seat, I’m leaving them with a fucking itinerary, gas money, and a bag of extra Xbox controller batteries.

Psst, I want to be really clear here. I’m not telling you the reasons for ending camp because I feel like I need to explain myself to you, but rather, I really wish someone had told me sooner that it’s okay to walk away from something hard when it is taking more of you than you can give. I never got that talk or reassurance, so now I want to give it to you, so that when you face something you have to walk away from, you’ll be quicker to give yourself permission.

I heard an amazing thing the other day.

Being willing to give up something good for something great requires trust that something better is always coming.” -Charreah Jackson, author of the book Boss Bride.

With the closure of Curvy Girl Guide, moving and now the end of Camp Throwback, my last few weeks have been a little like attending my own funeral, and I’ve heard all manner of eulogies.

Some so full of love my heart can barely process them. Some scathing. People feel how they feel, I don’t get to pick. I guess among all the words and tears and feelings, you just want to know if you’ve left a mark, and I did. I left a huge mark. And the good news is, I’m still standing here holding a baseball bat.

It’s now Tuesday, my second day post-camp. I’m still exhausted, still burnt to a crisp, still wondering why this weird muscle I didn’t realize was there is sore. But, I’m so full.

I had the privilege of attending my final Camp Throwback with the most amazing people. Thanks to my crew of friends who stepped in and took over, I was able- for the first time actually- to really lean in and experience camp. I drank, I ate, I floated in a pool, I danced and wore short shorts and took the time to talk to people more than I’d gotten the chance to in any previous year.

It simultaneously gave me the closure I needed, and made it that much harder to give up.

How can I quit something so amazing? How can I walk away from something that is working so well?

Trusting that something better is coming is really just trusting in myself, and you know what? I do.

I come up with 50 fantastic ideas a day. 48 of them won’t work, mostly because of exotic animal laws or gravity, but man, look the hell out for those remaining two, they’re gonna be fire.

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