My life has often felt like a series of plans. Plan, execute. Plan, execute. Plan, execute. For someone who craves security, this has been a cycle I have derived much comfort from. As a child, I was told that I could achieve anything that I worked hard for; that effort equated to success. Having a linear understanding of how growth worked was motivating and allowed me to undertake challenges that otherwise may have been intimidating. For most of my life, I had no reason to question this understanding. My hard work almost always paid off, and when I fell, I typically fell forward.
Planning quickly turned from something that I did, into something that I was. No longer was I the one who liked to plan, but I was christened “the planner” in many of my social circles. I found that with enough planning, I had time in the day to achieve all of what I had set out to do. Failure was viewed as a challenge, one that I had penciled out time in my schedule for. I was able to learn from my mistakes, and trusted that most things influencing my life were well-within my circle of control.
With retrospect, I have gained some clarity over this phase in my life. The reality is this cyclical pattern that I derived so much comfort from was shrouded in privilege. I faced very few barriers or obstacles that I could not overcome. I lived in a bubble manifested through my Whiteness, my financially stable household, and the care and motivation of my parents. If it were not for all of those factors, it is likely that my cycle would have been interrupted much sooner.
After looking back at my old journals from high school, it’s pretty clear that I presented with mental health issues from about the age of 15. However, these issues were always moderate in severity, and I was easily distracted from them by the copious amounts of extracurricular activities that I enrolled in. I derived comfort from my linear understanding of success and derived much of my self-worth from those achievements. It was not until my first year of university that I was forced to come to terms with the uncontrollable.
As I entered my first year of university, my whole world felt like it had been turned upside down. I was attending university in a town that I was eager to leave, staying due to fear of change and feelings of obligation to my friends and family. For the first time in my life, school was hard. I was not effortlessly attaining good marks, not excelling in extra-curriculars, and for the first time, I felt I had no achievements from which to derive my self-worth.
I consumed myself with planning as a coping mechanism. I created study schedule after study schedule, hundreds of decks of flashcards, operated based on the direction of three separate calendars. I planned past the point of execution. I had started using planning as a protective mechanism. I derived feelings of worthiness from creating the plan, more so than I did executing it. Often, I would plan and organize my study efforts well past when I was supposed to begin studying. When the exam finally arrived, I had productively procrastinated myself into a less-than satisfactory mark.
When the sun disappeared for the Winter months, so did any remnant of the Meg I used to be. Instead, I cowered in my room under the covers, fearful of the world that threatened to destroy my sense of self. This was not how it was supposed to be. My mornings consisted of waking up to intrusive thoughts, the occasional panic attack, and choosing to go back to bed to avoid any further discomfort. Sometimes I would make it all the way to the school parking lot, before breaking down and choosing to go home. I was missing classes and consequently getting the worst grades I had ever received. I was hiding from the world and my failed plans, and had convinced myself that the world wanted me to stay there.
When eventually things got to a breaking point, I sought out help through the school counselling services. I began Cognitive Behavioural Therapy (CBT) in an attempt to rewire my anxious brain. Yet again, I found a plan that I could derive comfort from—but this time it was a treatment plan. Put in the work, learn the skills, reap the reward of a healthy mind.
My mindset about therapy was somewhat maladaptive, but nonetheless—therapy probably saved my life. I began to learn about the ‘locus of control’, and to differentiate between what was within and outside of my circle of influence. Learning the difference between these two things didn’t make coping with the uncontrollable any easier, but at least I was not directing my energy into an impossible, fruitless task.
Realizing all the parts of my life beyond my control was actually a very stressful experience. The list of things outside of my control continued to grow, as the list of things within it shrunk dramatically. I could no longer pretend that I was immune to outside influence—that I was the omniscient presence in my own life. I was forced to reconcile with my role as the captain of my own ship, navigating the changing tides of which I was powerless to.
With practice, things became easier. In many ways, it was a relief to realize that I wasn’t the cause of all the events or problems in my life. However, causation does not negate responsibility—and I remained responsible for responding to all the things outside of my locus of control.
It has been six years since my first counselling session, and I like to think that I have come a long way. My progress has not been linear, and I still lean in to planning as a form of protection. I still become frustrated when things don’t go to plan, and I still place blame on myself for things outside of my control. Ironically, the less control I have the more I attempt to gain it to feel safe. With every failed attempt at control, life gives me lessons at a louder volume. After a few cycles, I think I might finally be getting the hang of it.
There are so many things that I could never have prepared for—experiencing my first mental health crisis, losing Raegan, meeting the man I thought would be the love of my life, re-writing my relationship with my parents, completely changing my career path. While planning brought me feelings of achievement, the things I didn’t plan for have brought forth depths of feeling that no scheduled activity ever could. It is in those depths that I have learned and loved the most.
In adulthood, a certain amount of planning is necessary to survival. I endeavour to find balance, to plan what I must and to allow and respond to everything else. I want to plan time for quiet exploration, and to boldly commit to radical follow through in the things that feel good.
When I was younger, I felt inclined to choose planning and security over flexibility and freedom. I did this to feel safe, and to feel worthy of love. As I grow older and create a sense of security in myself, I feel the consequence of over-structuring in my lack of self-concept. I crave the fun that flexibility and freedom foster. I want to make time for the unguided exploration that I didn’t make time for in childhood or adolescence. I want to chase the things that feel good and exciting, over the things that bring me status and the semblance of safety.
Over the years, I have learned that planning can only get you so far, and that the best nights out are the ones least planned. I welcome this new chapter in my life that prioritizes living over planning, and being over doing.
Cheers, to Unplanning.