My Brain is not my friend


Now, you are going to sit here, and you’re gonna write something original that people can relate to. And it must also be funny.


I’m gonna come back in two hours to check up on you, and you better have written something that will change the world. If not, I will continuously torture you with bad thoughts about how others are better at life than you, and how you will never amount to anything, but a sad and lonely girl who says inappropriate things to people.











My brain is like a pushy stage mum. It has these crazy expectations of me, and is constantly putting me under intense pressure, all the while maintaining that this is all for my own good; that it only wants the best for me. And if I just do everything it says, I might possibly become a famous blogger one day.

But its standards are skyscraper high. There is no way I’m not gonna fail.

I’ll write or draw something that I think is completely appropriate for someone of my caliber and skill set. And like a proud toddler, I’ll present my macaroni artwork to my brain….

Look Brain, I drawed you something



And my brain will look at it disapprovingly and say something horrible like:





I think my brain probably had a tough childhood and never really learned how to love. Most likely it had its own hopes of stardom crushed at an early age, and is now trying to live out its failed dreams through me.

Whatever it is, my brain is one unreasonable motherfucker. It’s shamefully impatient with me. I can’t even start jotting down ideas without my brain dismissing them as worthless crap. Before I’ve even started sketching, my brain has already decided it’s a waste of paper.

My stage mum brain is causing me sleepless nights. Because it keeps reminding me that it is already Friday, and that I still don’t have next week’s post.

So, I scramble and rush and try to recycle old ideas to present to my brain. But of course my brain can smell my incompetency a mile away.

It’s sitting there, perched on its throne, smoking its pipe, quietly judging me.


You disappoint me greatly


And I’ll be all sad and hurt and I’ll hide in bed for the rest of the day while my brain continues to sling abuse at me.

And my heart will feel heavy because I don’t understand how something that is a part of me; something that has known me since I was a fetus, can be so mean to me. I thought we were friends. Friends are meant to support each other no matter what. Why can’t my brain love me the way I am? Why am I never enough?


The more I think about it the angrier I become. I mean, my brain is supposed to be my friend. Why the fuck is it hating on me so much? It’s the ultimate betrayal.



And the longer I think about it, the more I can’t believe I’ve let a fucking organ treat me this way.




Until I become completely and utterly enraged and ready to punch my brain right in the vagina.




Shut up Brain! You’re not my real dad!


And then I’m crying and shouting at my brain. Why do you hate me?? What have I done? Have I not done everything you asked?!

Just love me! Please. Please

And my brain is speechless because I’ve never I confronted it before.

After a long silence. My brain quietly responds


I know brain…but you gotta tone it down. You’re literally making me sick

Brain: I’m sorry

I will never be perfect

Brain: I know

Please just love me

Brain: Ok



My brain and I still have a long way to go. We’re working out our differences and taking it one day at a time. It’s not easy confronting your brain, but it’s worth it. After 28 years I finally stood up to it and I’m a better person for it.

So there. This post isn’t perfect. But neither am I. And thank God for that.

18 thoughts on “My Brain is not my friend

  1. Your brain and my brain must be siblings. My brain was particularly mean to me yesterday, but I went on autopilot and had a great 6 mile run that reset the system. Now I’m watching/waiting for the brain betrayal.

    I really appreciate your posts.


  2. I remember in high school being such a perfectionist that I would have severe writer’s block because my first draft wasn’t perfect. I love imperfect posts. I encourage them and applaud them 😉

    I dare you to publish an imperfect post. Something off the cuff. Impromptu. Unrehearsed. It’s quite liberating actually…like burning a bra ;0

    Cuídate mucho guapa 🙂


  3. Wow, I’m so familiar with this feeling. It’s especially prevalent when I’m writing or drawing something.

    There was this thing I read somewhere aimed toward writing, but could also apply to drawing and possibly other things as well! When it comes to writing, just do it!!! Get something on that paper or word document. This is only the start, after all. Who knows where your fingers will take you next. It’s only a rough draft and you’ll have plenty of space to improve and revise. Remember that even the most artists and writers that we know had to practice practice practice to get to that final piece.

    Hell, Shakespeare may have had to make COUNTLESS drafts to get Hamlet or Romeo & Juliet to his liking. Know that those and countless other well-known creations weren’t just created overnight. There’s a lot of effort put into those things. Keeping that in mind for me at least, helps to keep things in perspective; that whatever I’m doing doesn’t need to be absolutely positively 100% flawless and perfect. Then again, what exactly is perfect? Everyone has their own style and tone as they grow. There honestly is no cookie-cutter definition.

    Though it definitely is challenging and takes a lot of practice in and of itself, don’t let that pushy stage mom get the best of you. ♥️


    1. Absolutely! I’ve started reading this amazing book called The Artists Way by Julia Cameron and omg it has changed my life. Its just about pushing through the negative voices in your head and creating. It’s not about us judging our work. That’s not our role. Our only purpose is to make and create. That has given me a lot of peace. xxx


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