A blog post by Elena Overfield | Formerly Pepetoe
I think we all build up a strange little list of things we believe are wrong with us, and this list is ever-growing as we face new difficulties in our lifetimes. And it’s not necessarily that we sat down one day and decided we hated those parts of ourselves, but rather somewhere along the way, we learnt that they made life more difficult.
Maybe somebody pointed them out. Maybe an ex complained about them. Maybe a friend made a joke that stuck with you longer than they ever intended it to. Maybe you watched other people seemingly glide through situations that completely consumed you and wondered why you couldn’t just be more like them.
Or maybe you’ve simply lived with yourself for long enough to know exactly which parts of your personality have a habit of getting you hurt.
I definitely have my list. For years, I’ve thought that becoming a “better” version of myself meant slowly working my way through it:
Be less emotional.
Less sensitive.
Less attached.
Stop caring what everybody thinks.
Stop taking things personally.
Stop trusting people so quickly.
Stop giving people so many chances.
Stop needing reassurance.
Stop analysing absolutely fucking everything.
Basically, become this mysterious, emotionally regulated, completely secure woman who apparently exists somewhere inside me and simply needs to be unlocked through enough therapy, journalling and personal growth.
Guess what? I’m still waiting to meet her.
Don’t get me wrong, there are things about myself I do need to work on. I don’t think “accept yourself as you are” should become an excuse to never take accountability for the ways your behaviour affects other people. Sometimes we do have unhealthy patterns. Sometimes our coping mechanisms hurt people. Sometimes the thing we’ve dismissed as “just who I am” is actually something we need to address.
Now? I’m learning plenty of those lessons. But, I’m also starting to wonder whether, in my determination to become healthier, happier, easier and more secure, whatever the hell any of that means, I’ve accidentally put some perfectly good parts of myself on the list too.
Not everything that makes life harder is necessarily something I want to lose. Being sensitive means I get hurt more easily, but it also means I notice when somebody else is hurting. Being trusting has meant I’ve trusted the wrong people, but I still think there’s something quite beautiful about meeting somebody and wanting to believe they’re good. Caring deeply means I can become too invested, but it also means the people I love will rarely have to question whether I love them. Feeling everything so intensely can be fucking exhausting, but it also means that when life is good, I really, really feel that too.
Maybe that’s the bit I’ve been missing.
We talk about our personality traits as though they can be neatly separated into strengths and weaknesses. Green flags over here. Red flags over there. What if they’re often the exact same things? What if your greatest strength, without boundaries, can also become the thing that hurts you most? What if growing up isn’t about removing all the difficult parts of yourself until you’re finally this perfectly healed, emotionally bulletproof human being? What if it’s learning which parts need changing… and which parts simply need protecting?
When I actually think about the things I’ve spent years trying to change about myself, there’s a pretty obvious pattern:
I over-love.
I overthink.
I over-give.
I over-trust.
I feel absolutely fucking everything.
No pun intended, by maybe my surname “Overfield” actually makes sense sometimes!
For a very long time, I’ve treated those things like a list of character defects I’m supposed to be working on. Recently, I’ve started asking myself a different question: What if the things I’ve spent years calling my “fatal flaws” aren’t necessarily flaws at all? What if I’ve just never learnt how to look after them properly?
I Feel Everything at Full Volume
Apparently, I’m a textbook Cancer. I don’t really believe in horoscopes, which makes it particularly annoying that descriptions of Cancer women seem to read like somebody has bugged my house.
I found this post on instagram (annoying that I didn’t save it or screenshot it), but I think this describes me (and not just Cancer girls anyway, but a lot of us). It read: a Cancer feels what other people miss.
She reads the room before anyone speaks. She remembers how you made her feel. She notices something is wrong before you’ve even worked it out yourself. She loves deeply. She protects the people she loves. And yes, she noticed that tiny change in your voice. Hello. This is SO me.
My green flags and red flags are basically the exact same personality traits viewed from different angles:
I feel things before they’re said.
But I also feel everything at full volume.
I make people feel understood.
But sometimes I understand everybody else before I understand myself.
I remember what matters to people.
But I also have a mental filing cabinet containing things that hurt me three years ago.
I trust my gut.
But my gut and my overthinking work as a team.
I love with my whole chest.
Which means heartbreak tends to hit my whole chest too.
And maybe that’s the thing. The parts of ourselves we call flaws aren’t always completely separate from the parts we love. Sometimes they’re the other side of the same coin.
Maybe I Don’t Love Too Much
I’ve been thinking about the phrase “I love too much.” Because I definitely do. Or at least, I’ve always thought that I do. When I love somebody, I really fucking love them. Romantically, platonically, family, whatever. I want to know what’s happening in your life. I’ll remember the tiny thing you mentioned six weeks ago. I’ll check whether you got home. I’ll notice when your messages sound slightly different. I’ll want to fix things when you’re hurting. I’ll probably see something completely random in Tesco and think of you. If you’re one of my people, you’re my person.
Historically, I’ve seen that intensity as something slightly embarrassing. Something I feel like I should tone down, because caring more puts you in the vulnerable position, doesn’t it? The person who cares less has the power. The person who can walk away easily wins. The person who doesn’t double-text, doesn’t ask what’s wrong, doesn’t need reassurance and can apparently go three working days without wondering why someone’s behaviour changed is somehow the emotionally superior one.
And I’ve tried to be her. I fucking hate being her. Because she isn’t me. That’s the idea and expectation I have in my head of someone I should be.
I don’t want to love people strategically. I don’t want relationships to become some weird competition over who can appear less interested. I don’t want somebody I love wondering whether I care about them because I’m too busy protecting my ego to show it. I’ve been on the receiving end of that. That shit hurts. So yes, maybe I over-love, but I’d rather learn who deserves that love than teach myself how to stop giving it.
The Problem Isn’t My Full Heart, It’s Where I Put It
That’s an important distinction. I’m not saying every part of my personality should simply be accepted without question. There have absolutely been times when I’ve given too much to people who weren’t giving anything back. I’ve trusted people before they’ve earned it, romantically, friendships, strangers. I’ve given fifth chances where a second chance was already generous. I’ve ignored my own needs because I was too busy understanding somebody else’s. I’ve mistaken empathy for responsibility. I’ve thought that because I could understand why somebody behaved badly, I had to keep accepting the behaviour. I don’t. That’s something I’m still learning.
Understanding somebody doesn’t require abandoning yourself. Maybe growth isn’t learning how to care less. Maybe it’s learning where to put all that care. Maybe the problem was never that I had too much love to give. Maybe I was giving VIP access to people who hadn’t even bought a fucking ticket.
Then there’s the overthinking. Oh, don’t we all love overthinking! Sometimes I swear I could make a twelve-part Netflix documentary out of a slightly different text message. Someone’s tone changes? Noted. They use punctuation differently? Interesting. They’re quieter than usual? We’re investigating. And the frustrating thing is that sometimes I’m right. That’s what makes it so difficult. I think it’s because I’m incredibly perceptive. I notice people. I notice patterns. I notice when someone’s energy changes. I can walk into a room and often tell when something feels slightly off. That’s useful. Until it isn’t.
Why? Anxiety takes the same skill and turns the sensitivity dial up to approximately 400%. Then suddenly I’m not just noticing information. I’m creating information to fill the gaps. A quiet person becomes an angry person. A delayed reply becomes rejection. A changed plan becomes evidence somebody doesn’t want to see me. A bad mood becomes something I caused. A tiny shift becomes the beginning of the end. That’s where I’m learning that my perceptiveness isn’t necessarily the problem. It’s what my anxiety does with the information afterwards.
I don’t need to stop noticing. I need to stop assuming every observation requires an investigation. Not every feeling is a fact. Not every silence contains a hidden message. Not every change means abandonment. And not every thought deserves a fucking committee meeting.
I Don’t Want To Stop Noticing Either
Why? Simply due to the fact that the alternative doesn’t appeal to me. I don’t want to become oblivious. I like that I notice when my friends aren’t themselves. I like that I remember little details about people, like the fact I still remember everyone’s birthdays from my reception class (I was 4!). I like that people feel they can talk to me. I like understanding people. I like caring.
There have been times when noticing that tiny shift in somebody has allowed me to ask: Are you actually ok? And they’ve needed somebody to ask. That’s a beautiful thing. So again, maybe the goal isn’t: Stop overthinking. Maybe it’s: Learn when thinking has stopped being useful.
There’s a difference between intuition and anxiety. There’s a difference between noticing and catastrophising. There’s a difference between reflection and rumination. I’m still learning where those lines are. I probably always will be.
I Give Too Much
This is another one I’ve been told. To be fair, sometimes they’re right. I do give people a lot. Time, energy, attention, forgiveness, chances (SO many chances)… emotional space.
In the past, I’ve had this terrible habit of continuing to pour long after my own cup is empty. Then being quietly devastated when nobody notices I’m thirsty. That’s not entirely fair either.
What I’ve learnt is that people can’t always know what I need if I don’t tell them. Sometimes I haven’t. I’ve gone quiet. I’ve said “nothing’s wrong” while internally reviewing the previous fortnight like some kind of CCTV footage. I’ve expected people to recognise changes in me because I recognise changes in them. But, I know, not everybody’s brain works like mine. That’s been quite a difficult lesson.
Loving somebody the way you want to be loved doesn’t necessarily mean you’re loving them the way they need to be loved. Equally, giving endlessly doesn’t guarantee somebody will eventually give the same amount back. So I’m learning. Learning to ask, communicate, say when something hurts, stop expecting people to read my mind. But also to stop pouring into people who consistently watch me run dry. Generosity isn’t the problem. Self-abandonment is.
I Trust People
I trust people probably too easily. I tend to assume people’s intentions are good. Even when somebody hurts me, my brain immediately starts searching for the explanation. I play out scenarios like: maybe they’re struggling, maybe they’re scared, maybe they’ve been hurt before, maybe they didn’t mean it, maybe they don’t know how to communicate. Maybe, maybe, maybe.
Don’t get me wrong, empathy is wonderful. Until you start using somebody else’s pain to explain away your own.
I’ve written about this before: pain explains behaviour, but it doesn’t excuse it. I still believe that. I don’t want difficult experiences to make me suspicious of everybody. U don’t want every person I meet to have to pay the debt left by somebody who came before them. I don’t want to become cynical. But… I also don’t want to mistake being trusting for ignoring evidence.
Trust doesn’t have to mean handing somebody your entire heart and hoping they know what to do with it. People can earn access to you. Slowly. That’s not cold. That’s not bitter. That’s not “having walls up.” That’s simply learning that being open-hearted and having boundaries can exist at the same time.
I’ve Spent A Lot of My Life Trying To Be Less
This is where I think it goes deeper. When I look back, there’s been a recurring theme throughout my life. Less.
Be less emotional, less sensitive, less needy, less complicated, take up less space, need less reassurance, expect less, care less, feel less.
For a long time, physically become less too. It’s strange how easily that mentality travels. You can work incredibly hard to recover from wanting your body to take up less space while still believing your personality should. Maybe I stopped trying to physically disappear while continuing to emotionally shrink myself. Don’t say that upset you, don’t ask for reassurance, don’t admit you care, don’t cry, don’t make a fuss, don’t be difficult. Be easy, be chill, be lovable. And I’m fucking tired of trying to make myself smaller.
Pepeote Was A Part of That Too
I think that’s partly why rebranding my blog, podcast and online space from Pepetoe to Elena Overfield mattered so much more than I expected it to.
Pepetoe wasn’t fake. I want to make that really clear. Everything I shared was still me. The difference is, I think she represented the version of me I desperately wanted to become. Polished, recovered, strong, positive, helpful. Someone who had learnt the lesson before she talked about it.
I shared difficult things, but often once I’d found a way to package them into something useful. There was always an answer at the end.
And I know now (well, I’ve always known) that real life doesn’t work like that. Sometimes I don’t know the lesson yet. Sometimes I’m writing while I’m still confused. Sometimes I fuck up. Sometimes I’m the person who needs to apologise. Sometimes I relapse into old ways of thinking. Sometimes I contradict something I wrote six months ago because I’ve changed my mind.
That’s Elena, not Pepetoe. Putting my actual name on everything felt strangely symbolic. I’m not presenting a version anymore. I’m documenting a person. A very imperfect one. Since doing that, I’ve felt like I can breathe. Because I don’t need to perform being healed anymore. I can just be human.
Maybe Being Called “Sensitive” Isn’t An Insult
“You’re too sensitive.” I’ve always hated that sentence. Why? Well, what am I supposed to do with it? Turn the sensitivity setting down? Delete some emotions? Return my personality and ask whether they have it in beige?
Being sensitive absolutely has downsides. I get hurt easily. Things stay with me. I can take things personally. I can become overwhelmed. I can struggle to let things go.
But sensitivity is also why I care so much. It’s why words matter to me. It’s why I think about how my actions affect people. It’s why I love writing. It’s why I can sit with somebody when they’re struggling and genuinely want to understand. It’s why tiny acts of kindness mean an enormous amount to me. It’s why I find meaning in things other people might walk straight past.
Why would I want to lose all of that?
I don’t need thicker skin. Maybe I just need stronger boundaries around the skin I’ve got.
Your Greatest Strengths Can Hurt You
I think that’s what I’ve finally started understanding. Our strengths and weaknesses aren’t always sitting neatly on opposite sides of our personalities. Sometimes they’re the same trait without the right boundaries. Love becomes self-abandonment when you give it endlessly to someone who doesn’t reciprocate. Empathy becomes excuse-making when you use it to justify someone hurting you. Self-awareness becomes overthinking when every thought needs analysing. Loyalty becomes staying too long when you’re terrified of giving up on people. Sensitivity becomes anxiety when every tiny change feels like danger. Trust becomes naivety when you ignore what somebody repeatedly shows you.
None of that means the original trait is bad. It means it needs protecting. I think that’s a much kinder way of looking at myself. Not “how do I fix everything that’s wrong with me?”, but “how do I look after the parts of me that are good, so they don’t keep hurting me?”
This Year Has Been Pure Shit, But Also Incredible
That’s probably the strangest backdrop to this realisation. Parts of the last year have been fucking horrible. But I’ve also made some of the best memories of my life. I’ve met incredible people. I’ve strengthened friendships. I’ve laughed until my stomach hurt. I’ve done ridiculous things. I’ve loved. I’ve lost. I’ve fucked things up. I’ve learnt. I’ve had weeks where everything felt like it was collapsing and then somehow found myself laughing uncontrollably with people I adore three days later.
If you only saw my camera roll, you might think this year was incredible. If you only read some of my journal entries, you’d think it was catastrophic. Both are true. And perhaps that’s another example of my tendency to think everything needs a neat label.
Good year.
Bad year.
Good person.
Bad person.
Strength.
Flaw.
Maybe life just isn’t that tidy. There can be joy in a terrible week. There can be pain during a beautiful year. You can be healing and struggling. You can love yourself and still desperately want to change things. You can be incredibly strong and still need people. You can be a fucking mess and still have a really beautiful life.
Thank You To The People Who Have Let Me Be This Person
I think this year has also taught me something about the people around me. I’m incredibly grateful for the ones who’ve stayed. The people who’ve been beside me not only over the last twelve months, but throughout my 23 years. And the people I’ve met recently who have somehow learnt an alarming amount about me in a relatively short period of time and decided: “Yeah, alright. I’ll stick around.”
They’ve seen the overthinking, the emotion, the mistakes, the questionable decisions, the crying, the chaos, the over-planning. The parts of my past I’m proud of, and the parts I’m not. The people who have seen all of this and chose to stay? THANK YOU.
I’m learning that the right people don’t necessarily make you feel like you need to become less complicated. They just learn how you’re complicated. And you learn how they’re complicated too. That’s friendship. That’s love. That’s being human.
So, Maybe My Fatal Flaws Aren’t Flaws
I don’t want to romanticise my bad habits. There are things about myself I genuinely need to work on.
I know that I need to communicate instead of expecting people to know, to stop catastrophising every change, to know when enough chances are enough, to stop confusing understanding someone with being responsible for them, to learn how to soothe myself rather than always searching for reassurance externally. I need boundaries, for myself and other people to respect. I need accountability. I need to grow.
But, I don’t think growth requires becoming somebody completely different. I don’t want to become colder. I don’t want to love less. I don’t want to stop trusting people. I don’t want to stop noticing the little things. I don’t want to become somebody who finds it easy to walk away from everyone. I don’t want to stop feeling everything at full volume. Because that’s me.
Maybe my job isn’t to destroy those parts of myself; maybe it’s to protect them. To give my love to people who return it. To use my sensitivity to understand rather than catastrophise, to trust people while still trusting myself, to give generously without abandoning myself, to feel deeply without believing every feeling is a fact, and to stop apologising for having a big fucking heart.
Maybe my fatal flaw is that I care too much. But after experiencing what it feels like when people care too little? I think I can live with that. Maybe I don’t need to become less sensitive, less emotional, less trusting, less complicated or less me. Maybe I just need to stop handing the softest parts of myself to people who make me wish they weren’t soft.
My softness was never the problem. I just needed to learn that it deserved protecting.
If you made it this far, one I LOVE YOU, and two, NEW PODDY EPISODE OUT NOWWWWW!
xo Pepetoe… no, xox Elena :)
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