By Amanda Andrews

I am an extremely annoying person with unwavering high standards. What’s even worse, is that statement makes me a fraud, as even the people who know me well would describe me as, “the sweetest, most easy-going person.”

Order is incredibly important to me. Executing tasks in the most efficient way possible is a high-ranking value of mine; it’s up there with reproductive rights (i.e. human rights), kindness, and my religious stance (god=dog).

I have never been able to understand the logic behind replacing a trash bag at any time other than immediately following taking out the trash. The same goes for hair in the bathroom—why would anyone not clean it up directly after their shower or shave?

I internally shudder when people repeat a story to me. I was 100% present the first time we had the conversation; how could they not remember that they were telling me? Do they just talk, and not pay attention to who it is they are directing their talking to?

My best days are fueled by creativity: the intricate art of to-do lists, schedules, and time blocking. So, no, an out-of-the-blue phone call doesn’t sound like the perfect pick-me-up (more like the pesky knock-me-down from productivity).

I know what you’re thinking.

“It’s gotta be intense living with or dating this person.”

Let me have the privilege of easing your mind—I live alone (in a very tidy apartment), and I am single.

My solo circumstances are not, however, due to the peeves listed above. People in my life leave bagless trash cans, reprise recent conversations, and drop in unannounced all the time, because as far as they’re concerned, I love it! 

You see, for most of my life, I have felt painstaking embarrassment about my extreme preferences. Few people are enticed to approach the girl at a party who feels compelled to organize the recycling before pouring a drink. It’s not fun traveling with a friend who still insists on visiting the tourist sites (that were mutually chosen and agreed upon!) even though everyone is hungover. My favorite dogs even scoff at my insisting on doing the dishes before we go for a walk. I can hear them thinking, “Come on lady, don’t you know that running water just makes me need to pee even more!?”

I have felt so much shame about how particular I am that in order to sufficiently cover it up, I began behaving in the extreme opposite fashion—haphazard and unbothered.

As a result, I constantly pick up other peoples’ hair, react like I’m hearing a story for the first time, and drop everything I’m doing for an unplanned hang out. I do my loved ones the disservice of harboring yet another ounce of resentment every time a desire that I have never communicated is not being honored. My smile has become a vehicle for hiding how displeased I am; the bigger my smile, the greater the discomfort stewing up inside of me. 

Sometime before the age of 12 I lost the instinct of speaking up about what I wanted. Before it went away completely, I remember I would have an impulse to say “I don’t like that,” which would be followed by an internal conversation where I’d stop myself from saying it.

I attribute this to influences from impressionable childhood years:

The media’s tropes of “the crazy bitch,” who no one wanted to date, being outspoken and confrontational; and the hot, desirable girl being sweet and accommodating.

Interacting with adults who had poor mental health hygiene (I am a firm believer that there is not a single person who wouldn’t benefit from therapy or some form of intentional self-reflection. And dare I say that the ones who claim not to need it, just may be the ones who would benefit from it the most?)

And Harriet the Spy.

So here I am, in my mid-30s, a closeted neat freak, terrified to reveal my truth. Anxious bitterness festers inside because if I admit that the texture of mayo actually unsettles me, a friend might abandon their sandwich-crafting pursuits altogether, and I simply can't bear that on my conscience. Or…they may think I am obnoxious and not want to associate with me anymore—which is absolutely irrational (almost as irrational as waiting until you have a wad of cooking remnants to dispose of to replace the trash bag). 

Recently, however, I have learned that my quirk of “particular-ness” can actually be a superpower. I don’t miss important dates of any kind (even birthdays of people who aren’t on social media)—not due to my memory, but due to my calendar consistency. I produce shows that run smoothly, where people feel taken care of—not due to any type of training, but due to constructing extensive lists and deadlines. I am able to get credit card fees refunded—not due to financial knowledge, but due to my constant review (and the angst it would cause me to leave that box unchecked on the to-do’s).

Though it is my predilection, I do not feel an eliteness toward this systematic way of living. Conversely, while I hide this aspect of myself, I do not think lowly of it. The point of significance is that my fear of these tendencies being polarizing led me to suppress a superpower. This realization has set me on the terrifying, worthwhile journey of pushing my honesty forward when I feel myself beginning to stifle it. Perhaps in 6 months, I will report that “no worries,” is no longer the most used phrase in my vernacular.

And, seeing as we all are living amongst adjacent societies in a common timeframe, I imagine that many of us have unknowingly suppressed superpowers. I would like to offer the probability that the “unfavorable” quality you overcompensate for, actually contains brilliance. The thought that makes you squirm when you contemplate vocalizing it, may be your most impactful contribution. Despite living in a world where individuals are silenced for what could cause inconvenience, unrest, or controversy, I believe we owe it to ourselves and our fellow human beings to harness and present our authentic selves. Even the people who “reply all” with a message for one specific person deserve this.

May we all feel empowered to passionately advocate for what brings us peace. May we gracefully support others as they do the same, even if they slightly irritate us with their vulnerable requests. And, may we all make more of an effort to refill the Brita, Keurig, and ice cube trays before they are completely empty.

About the Author

Amanda Andrews is an NYC based actress, singer, writer, and producer.  While she delights in each of these passions as separate entities, she merges them together in her her one-woman show.  While the elevator pitch for these shows is still a work in progress, some close attempts include, “journal entries turned into scripts,” “rock & roll plays about mental health,” and “humor from what is heavy.”  Amanda has performed her original one-woman plays with music of this nature at Joe’s Pub at The Public Theater, The Green Room 42, The Duplex, and The Stonewall Inn.  More info can be found at www.AmandaAndrews.net, and she would be thrilled to connect on instagram: @amandrews31