If you’re Stressed and you Know it Clap your Hands

So as I lay here on my couch for the second day home sick from work, surrounded by Vitamin C tablets, tissues, and gatoraide alike, I hear my phone buzz on the coffee table. I pick it up and notice it’s an e-mail from the Hufington Post. It’s titled “Millennials: America’s Most Stressed Generation.” First thought: Damn you Huffington for such captivating titles, I am trying to nap here.  Second thought: Finally someone else doesn’t think we’re the only crazy stressed out people on the planet.

I loved the article, and thought that it hit the nail right on the head. Let me know your thoughts!

Millennials Come of Age as America’s Most Stressed Generation

P.S. If anyone is sick battling a cold, the Halls Defense Citrus Drops are Fantastic!

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I Love You, But it’s Killing Me

So I have come to the realization that I am the type of person that allows everyone’s shit to become my shit. Don’t get me wrong, I mean it in the most loving tone and I do it out of love. I genuinely want to help the people in my life with their shit.  Though I do not think I actually know the difference between helping them and jumping in and fixing it for them. It’s not like I go out trying to fix everyone’s problems, fight crime when I get home from work, and be a hero.  I certainly do not think I am superwoman (though the thought of being able to fly is quite enticing), It honestly just happens that way. All of this has led me to believe that I have an issue.

The issue evolves from the pure fact that my attempts at being supportive usually end with their problems somehow becoming my problems. I end up being more upset, more stressed, and more exhausted than they are. I literally take over completely and DRIVE MYSELF CRAZY!

Truth is, I don’t think I know how to be the compassionate friend. Meaning, support them through issues in life, as in listen and just be supportive. Instead, I go bat shit crazy, jump in, and join the suffering and commiseration. I am the friend who thinks it’s my duty to see them through the end and make sure they feel better so that, NO– I can feel better. I overstep boundaries, I follow-up constantly on progress, all because I genuinely feel bad if it doesn’t go the way, NO–I expected.

In an effort to not go mad<– me wishing I had a British accent, I have decided to learn what it really means to be compassionate and be a supportive friend. I vow to find the balance between telling your boyfriend off for you, and giving you that awkward “I’m Sorrrry” look accompanied with the “Sucks to be You” uncomfortable hug.