Man, I never thought I’d be sitting here talking about my star sign. I always thought that stuff was for folks who read glossy magazines. But let me tell you, I hit a wall, a big, ugly wall, and it wasn’t made of brick, it was built out of my own garbage habits.
The whole thing blew up right after Thanksgiving last year. My roommate, who also happens to be my business partner, almost walked out on the whole operation. Not just the apartment, the whole business. He finally just looked me dead in the eye and said, “You are impossible to live with, and worse, you’re impossible to work with. Nothing is ever good enough for you, is it?”
I got defensive, naturally. I shot back, “I’m just trying to make sure we don’t mess up! Someone has to look at the details!”
He just shook his head. “No, you’re trying to look at the details, then re-do my details, then criticize the way I looked at the details in the first place. You are driving everyone nuts.”
I felt that sting. Because it was true. That was my first clue that maybe the issue wasn’t the world being sloppy, it was me being a pain in the ass. I went home that night and just typed into a search bar, “Why am I so critical all the time?” and the internet screamed back, “Virgo, duh.”
The Terrible List I Had To Face
I started reading through all the trash people wrote about my sign, and honestly, I saw my reflection in every single terrible bullet point. It wasn’t fun. It felt like someone had just recorded my worst moments and written them down as character traits.
- The Nitpicker: That’s me. I couldn’t just enjoy dinner; I had to ask the waiter if the lettuce was locally sourced, then tell my partner their knot on their shoelace was lopsided.
- The Over-Worrying Robot: My brain was just a 24/7 disaster simulation. I wasn’t living in the moment; I was planning for the five things that could go wrong tomorrow, and the three back-up plans for each of those five things. It was exhausting.
- The Control Freak: If someone else did a job, I had to immediately ask to see it, and then “just adjust a few things.” I couldn’t trust anyone to load the dishwasher correctly. Seriously.
I realized I wasn’t just organized; I was a control-obsessed jerk wrapped up in a blanket of “helpful advice.”
What I Actually Did To Stop It
I knew I couldn’t just think my way out of it; I had to act my way out. This was the hard part. It wasn’t about meditating; it was about shutting my mouth.
Step One: The Stoplight Rule.
I started this thing I called the Stoplight Rule. When I noticed myself starting to formulate a critical comment—about the way someone was typing, the choice of coffee, the music volume—I had to physically stop myself. I literally trained my brain to see that thought as a red light. I had to force the muscles in my jaw to lock up. I started small. My partner left a sock on the floor. My natural Virgo response was to point to it and ask, “Are you blind?” Instead, I just looked at it. I waited 60 seconds. I then picked it up without saying a single word. Sounds ridiculous, I know, but it felt like lifting a car. The key was to let the action happen without the commentary following it.
Step Two: The Messy Project.
I had to learn to deal with things not being perfect. I needed to embrace a little chaos. I forced myself to start painting again, something I used to love. Why painting? Because you can’t perfectly control paint. It bleeds, it mixes, it smears. It forces you to accept the accident. My first few canvases looked like a fifth-grader’s homework, but I couldn’t throw them out or redo them. I just had to look at the mess and say, “That’s done. That’s okay.” It trained my eye to stop demanding precision from everything I looked at.
Step Three: Offloading the Worry Work.
The overthinking trait was the worst. It zapped all my energy. I had to get the endless list of potential problems out of my head. I didn’t just journal about feelings; I started a dedicated “Worry Dump” notebook. If a worry popped up—like “What if the roof leaks tomorrow?”—I wrote it down, then immediately under it, I wrote ONE actual, concrete action. Not three or four, just one. “Worry: Roof leak. Action: Check attic next weekend.” Once it was written down, I mentally told myself, “It’s on the schedule. You can stop thinking about it.” It sounds simple, but it finally let me have some quiet time without my brain running a frantic safety check every five minutes.
It’s still a daily battle, don’t get me wrong. I catch myself trying to rearrange the spices at the grocery store. But my business partner and I are still working together, and when he leaves a coffee ring on the desk now, I just grab a coaster and slide it under, and I don’t even twitch.
That right there is a win. Being less of a Virgo pain and more of a real human being.
