The Dark Side of Being an All-or-Nothing Woman

I don't just love. I over-love. I don't just spend. I overspend. I don't just eat. I overeat. And sometimes, the hardest person to control in my life is myself.

I've been thinking about something lately. Something that isn't particularly funny, isn't pretty, and certainly isn't one of those things you casually bring up over coffee.

I have what I call an addictive personality.

And before anyone pictures me stumbling out of a bar at 2 a.m. with a cigarette hanging out of my mouth and my life in complete shambles, that's not what I'm talking about.

Actually, it's quite the opposite.

I'm talking about knowing myself well enough to understand that there are certain things I simply cannot allow myself to participate in because I don't always know when to stop.

And that, my friends, is an exhausting way to live.

I Have Never Been Good at Just a Little

Some people can have one drink and call it a night.

Some people can walk into Target, buy the toilet paper they came for, and leave without spending $237 on shit they didn't even know existed.

Some people can have two cookies, close the package, and move on with their lives.

WHO ARE THESE PEOPLE, AND WHAT KIND OF WITCHCRAFT ARE THEY PRACTICING?

Because I am not one of them.

For me, there's always been this little voice that says, Just one more.

One more bite. One more purchase. One more chance for someone who has already shown me exactly who they are.

And the worst part?

Sometimes I know exactly what I'm doing WHILE I'm doing it.

I can practically see the train coming down the tracks, and instead of getting out of the way, I'm standing there wondering if I have time to order something from Amazon before impact.

It's funny until it isn't.

The Financial Damage Nobody Sees

Let's talk about money.

Because this particular part of my personality has cost me dearly.

I've put myself into financial debt because I wanted things. Sometimes things I needed, sometimes things I absolutely didn't, and sometimes things I convinced myself I needed because apparently I'm also an excellent salesperson when the customer is me.

And it's not always about the actual item.

Sometimes it's the excitement of buying something. The anticipation. That little rush of happiness when you hit "BUY NOW."

For a moment, it feels good.

Until the bills come.

Until you look at your bank account and wonder how in the actual hell you managed to do it AGAIN.

And then comes the guilt. The embarrassment. The promises to yourself that you're going to get your shit together. And you mean it. Every single time.

But knowing better and doing better are two entirely different things.

I have worked hard in my life. I know the value of a dollar. I'm not an irresponsible idiot wandering through life without a clue.

But I've made irresponsible decisions.

And admitting that publicly is uncomfortable as hell.

And Then There's Love. Jesus Christ, the Love.

If you think my relationship with money has been complicated, you should see my track record with people.

Because I don't just love someone.

I LOVE THE ABSOLUTE SHIT OUT OF THEM.

I love with everything I have. Every ounce of energy, every emotion, every piece of my heart.

And for a long time, I didn't understand that loving someone that deeply doesn't automatically mean they're deserving of it.

I've loved people who were completely wrong for me.

People who hurt me.

People who took advantage of how much I was willing to give.

And instead of walking away when I should have, I'd convince myself that maybe if I loved them a little harder, gave them one more chance, tried just one more time, things would be different.

Spoiler alert: They usually weren't.

I wasn't addicted to those people in a clinical sense. But I was absolutely attached to the hope of what I wanted them to be.

I loved their potential more than their reality.

And I stayed in situations that cost me my peace, my confidence, and pieces of myself I had no business giving away.

I've had to learn that loving someone with your whole heart should never require abandoning yourself.

That's a lesson I wish I had learned about twenty years and several questionable men ago.

Sometimes the Best Decision Is Not to Start

Here's something people may not realize about me.

There are things I deliberately choose not to do because I'm afraid of what could happen if I did.

Drinking. Smoking. Certain habits that other people can enjoy casually without giving them another thought.

For me, the possibility of losing control simply isn't worth it.

It's not that I think everyone who drinks or smokes has a problem. Far from it.

I just know my own tendencies.

And when you've spent enough of your life struggling to put the brakes on certain behaviors, you become very aware of which roads you probably shouldn't travel down in the first place.

Sometimes people think having self-control means being able to do something in moderation.

For me, sometimes self-control means not doing it at all.

And I've had to become okay with that.

Food Is a Whole Other Battle

Oh, food. My delicious, comforting, emotionally complicated little friend.

I love food. I love cooking. I love a good meal. I love the entire experience of sitting down and enjoying something absolutely fantastic.

But sometimes eating has nothing to do with hunger.

Sometimes it's boredom. Sometimes it's stress. Sometimes it's happiness. Sometimes it's sadness. And sometimes it's 9:47 p.m., I'm standing in the kitchen eating shredded cheese directly out of the bag, and I couldn't tell you what emotional crisis brought me there.

But here's where it gets difficult.

I know when I'm full. I know when I've had enough. And sometimes I keep going anyway. Then I beat myself up afterward. I criticize my body, my choices, my lack of restraint. And the cycle starts all over again. It's an incredibly frustrating relationship to have with something you literally need to survive. Because unlike drinking or smoking, you can't just decide to stop eating. You have to learn how to live with it, enjoy it, and find some kind of balance.

And I am still working on that.

But My Biggest Fear Isn't About Me

This is the part that's difficult for me to write.

Because as much as I've struggled with these tendencies throughout my life, there's something that scares me far more than my own mistakes.

I'm afraid I may have passed some of these tendencies on to my children.

And that thought absolutely breaks my heart.

I know that genetics, environment, experiences, and a million other things play a role in how we develop. I also know that having an "addictive personality" isn't some official diagnosis that automatically gets handed down from one generation to the next.

But I can't help wondering.

Will they struggle to know when enough is enough?

Will they spend years trying to fill emotional voids with things that only make them feel better temporarily?

Will they love people who don't deserve them?

Will they struggle with the same impulses, the same guilt, the same internal battles that I've fought?

And will they someday sit alone, looking back at their own decisions, wishing they could have done things differently? Because if there is one thing I would give absolutely anything to spare my children, it's that.

I don't want them to inherit my struggles.

I want them to inherit my strength. My ability to love. My determination. My ridiculous sense of humor. My ability to get knocked down and somehow get back up, usually while swearing and questioning every decision that led me there.

But the parts of me that have caused pain? God, I hope those aren't the parts that stick.

And I know I can't control all of that. Maybe that's what makes it so frightening.

As parents, we spend so much time worrying about what the world might do to our children.

Sometimes we forget to worry about what pieces of ourselves they might carry into it.

The Exhaustion of Constantly Having to Check Yourself

Something people don't talk about enough is how exhausting it is to constantly monitor your own behavior.

To have to stop and ask yourself:

Do I actually need this? Am I really hungry? Am I doing this because it makes me happy, or because I'm trying to avoid feeling something else? Am I giving this person another chance because they deserve it, or because I can't stand the thought of letting go?

It's like having a full-time job supervising your own brain. And some days, that little bastard deserves to be fired.

There are days I wish I could just be one of those people who naturally knows when enough is enough.

Who can enjoy something without taking it too far. Who can walk away from a relationship without writing seventeen imaginary chapters about how it could have ended differently. Who can look at a sale and realize that saving 40% on something you didn't need is actually spending 60% you shouldn't have.

But that's not always how I'm wired.

And pretending otherwise hasn't done me any favors.

I'm Learning That More Isn't Always Better

Here's what I'm slowly starting to understand.

Not everything I do has to be bigger, deeper, more intense, or completely consuming.

I can love someone without losing myself. I can enjoy food without punishing myself afterward. I can want something without buying it. I can feel an impulse without acting on it. And perhaps most importantly, I can make a mistake without deciding that I'm a complete failure.

Because for years, I've been incredibly hard on myself.

I have replayed decisions in my head until I've practically memorized every wrong turn. I've carried guilt over money. Regret over relationships. Shame over my body. Fear over my children. And enough self-criticism to fill an entire fucking library.

But I'm starting to realize that being aware of these patterns is important. And learning to interrupt them, even imperfectly, matters.

I'm not going to wake up tomorrow and magically become a woman who eats three almonds, makes a responsible purchase, and calmly walks away from every emotionally complicated situation.

Let's not get carried away. I'm still me. But I can keep trying.

Maybe My Children Can Learn From More Than My Mistakes

I can't change the genes my children inherited. I can't erase every mistake I've made or guarantee they'll never struggle with some of the same things.

But I can show them something else.

I can show them what it looks like to recognize a problem. To talk about uncomfortable things. To take responsibility. To ask for help when you need it. To establish boundaries, even when they're difficult. And to understand that just because something runs in a family doesn't mean everyone's story has to end the same way.

Maybe they'll recognize something in themselves earlier than I did. Maybe they'll make different choices. Maybe they'll understand that there's no shame in admitting something has become too much. And maybe, just maybe, watching me continue to work on myself will teach them more than pretending I never struggled at all.

So Why Am I Sharing This?

Because Coffee, Chaos & Kelly was never supposed to be a place where I pretended my life was perfect.

If you've been here long enough, you already know that's not happening.

This is a place for the funny shit, the ridiculous conversations, the love stories, the kitchen disasters, and all the beautiful nonsense that makes life worth living.

But it's also a place for the things that aren't so easy to laugh about.

The mistakes. The insecurities. The things we carry quietly because we're afraid someone might judge us if we say them out loud. And I know I'm not the only person who struggles with knowing when enough is enough.

Maybe your thing isn't spending. Maybe it isn't food. Maybe it's relationships, work, gambling, social media, or constantly chasing something that makes you feel good for five minutes and leaves you feeling worse afterward.

Whatever it is, I think more of us struggle with these patterns than we're willing to admit.

And I don't want to spend the rest of my life being ashamed of mine.

I want to understand them. I want to manage them. And I want to stop letting them make decisions for me.

Because here's the thing.

I actually love that I feel things deeply. I love that I get excited about life. I love that I have a huge heart, ridiculous enthusiasm, and enough passion to power a small Vermont town.

I don't want to lose those parts of myself.

I just want to learn that I don't have to give every single thing in my life 150% until there's absolutely nothing left of me. And if my children inherit even a fraction of my intensity, I hope they also learn something that took me far too long to figure out.

You can have a big heart without giving it away to everyone. You can want beautiful things without buying them all. And you can love life fiercely without letting every impulse run it.

I'm 47 years old, and I'm still figuring this shit out. Some days I'm doing great.

Other days, I'm standing in the kitchen with a mouthful of cheese, three Amazon packages on the way, and a bank account that's giving me the silent treatment.

But I'm trying.

And maybe that's where change starts.

Not with becoming an entirely different person.

But with learning how to take better care of the person you've always been.