I would be the first person to say I have a “Type-A” personality (and I would only be first to say it because I need to beat everyone else). I work at Starbucks, spin flag in the marching band, study genetics, and just started a paid position at TGen, a prestigious research institute. Oh, and I have never received any grade below an A. (Yeah, I’m THAT kid.…) Being an overachiever is sort-of like fighting a war… except you always lose... because you are fighting against yourself. When I don’t get 100%, I am wrong, and when I get 100% I wonder if there was a way to get 110%. Surprisingly, I am not here to tell you about work-ethic, or about how if you “work hard all of your dreams will come true”, or any such nonsense. I am here to tell you about the power of apathy.
But first, a story. Somewhere in between my middle school years and my freshman year of high school, my perfectionist attitude manifested itself into a fun little eating disorder that doctors call “Anorexia”. (Please don’t give me that look. Yes, I know big is beautiful. Yes, I know I am beautiful. I’m fine now, I promise.) Seeing me now, I don’t think anyone would ever guess that I was once 106 pounds and cried when my parents tried to get me to eat spaghetti. I remember vividly a particular conversation where I tried to explain to my mom why gaining weight would be the worst possible situation in the entire universe. After trying to scientifically explain to me why I needed to eat food (apparently, you need it to move… and do things… and survive…), my mother said the magic words: “What if you stopped caring about it so much?” Me? Stop caring? Impossible. I cared about everything more than everyone all of the time. I could not stop caring because then the world would probably end and it would be all my fault.
But… What if I did stop caring?
I decided to try it. For science. (And because, deep-down, I knew I wasn’t happy.) I ate when I was hungry and stopped when I was full and actively told Anorexia that I didn’t care what she had to say. 4:00 am Friday, I stepped on the scale (because 4 am is when crazy people get up to weigh themselves, and at this point I was certifiably insane). I had gained… TWO POUNDS. Two pounds of pure fat and now I was fat and I was only ever going to be fat and fat would be my new name. Pause.
I don’t care.
Idon’tcareIdon’tcareIdon’tcare.
I. Do. Not. Care.
I DON’T CARE.
Shots fired. Take that, Anorexia!
Suddenly, I was winning the war… for the sole reason that I was no longer fighting. I looked at the ammunition that she threw at me. You are so fat. Well, Anorexia, I don’t care what you have to say. But you are SO fat. You don’t DESERVE food. Mmmm, well… I don’t care. Anorexia fired the same grenades that had worked for two years, but now, she was firing at a wall. An impenetrable wall of apathy.
“I don’t care” became my mantra. With each repetition, I began to believe it more and more. And then, just for fun, I began to add taglines. You are chubby and no one will love you. I don’t care and I am beautiful. At first, it felt like lies, but… I didn’t care. It was so liberating. I built a wall between me and Anorexia, and slowly tore down the walls between me and my family and friends.
Gradually, I realized just how beneficial and versatile my phrase really was. “Kylie, I think you got fat.” I don’t care, I am happy now. “Kylie, I think that you are way too Christian.” I don’t care, God’s got me. “Kylie, I am an atheist. Do you like… hate me now?” I don’t care, you are a valid, sentient being who is allowed to have opinions.
My personal favorite came in a conversation with my roommate: “Kylie, I think I want to start transition to become a boy. What do you think?” I don’t care, your gender doesn’t define my friendship with you.
I know that some would insist that we should care more. Often times, we are bombarded with the idea that if we work harder then we will be richer and happier and better. But this way of approaching life destroys our mental health. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying nobody should care about anything ever. When it comes to the mental health of my friends, I care. When it comes to my family, I care. But I now choose what I care about and what I don’t. Nobody can tell me who, or what, or how much to care. I control where my apathy wall goes up and just how tall it stands. And it’s SO freeing. Caring is not an obligation; it’s a choice.
Perfectionists everywhere: seize your right to not care. I know that there are tests and extracurriculars and resume builders and changing opinions and families to impress and significant others to meet and babies to raise. I know that med school and law school and jobs and paying bills and your mother-in-law are all throwing you’re-not-good-enough grenades at you. But try this… for science. Once a month, listen to the little overachiever in your head telling you you aren’t good enough. But instead of staying quiet, shout back, with purpose:
I DON’T CARE.
Life is a battle, and sometimes the only way to win is to choose not to fight.
