Like many, I like to consider myself a ‘good’ person. I say Thank You to bus drivers, help trapped flies get out the window, and I recycle. A connection to the environment has always played a role in my life, be it from admiring tadpoles with my parents as a toddler to collecting the rubbish as part of ‘green schools’ as a primary student. 

It was my second year of college before I became a more active environmentalist, three years after the adoption of the Paris Agreement and at the tail end of the warmest decade in recorded climate history. Figures like Greta Thunberg came into view with her School Strike for Climate movement. It felt like, all at once, a bright light was being shone on all of the atrocities committed by industry against the planet. Documentary after documentary revealed harm to animals, the eradication nature, and blatant disregard of human rights in supply chains. I was astounded – taking personal action to mitigate the climate crisis and contribute to a more sustainable world felt like the singular most important thing. And arguably, it is. 

However, I was very unforgiving of anyone who didn’t hold the same black and white views as I did. 

For two years I prided myself on not having bought any new clothes (other than second-hand), despite the fact that I had come to hate my wardrobe and everything in it. I simultaneously judged my friends who continued to buy fast fashion while secretly being delighted that there were now new and trendy clothes I could borrow from them while still saving my sustainable face. 

I argued with friends who came from farming backgrounds that the modern agricultural industry was evil (American documentaries had told me so), without acknowledging the fact that many local Irish farmers take steps to reduce their emissions and incorporate organic practices into their farms. Many farmers are heritage farmers, many families depend on their farms to make a living, and many farmers consider themselves custodians of our natural landscape.

One year of vegetarianism made me hate eating out – vegetarianism paired with coeliac disease tended to limit the menu to one or two bland options – which dampened a beloved and social pastime.

Travelling was always at the top of my bucket list. I dreamt of flying to far away places and experiencing completely new cultures, but the guilt associated with taking a long-haul flight and the carbon emissions associated was niggling at my brain. 

I was by no means perfect, not even close – but that only stressed me out more. I watched Ted Talks of people who could fit their entire year’s worth of waste into a tiny glass jam jar, saw boycott after boycott of multi-million dollar brands that lined my supermarket shelves, listened to raw vegan influencers try to show me their ways. There was always more work to do; I could always be more sustainable.

The world began to feel small, restricted and unfair. But nobody was making me do any of this.

The strict rules I placed on myself for the sake of the environment made me feel jaded. I was jealous of the people who continued to live their lives and seemingly didn’t care (they probably did, my ego simply told me that they didn’t care enough). I felt totally disillusioned. Eventually I thought – hey, if you can’t beat them, join them. And with that, my morals and passion went out the window. 

I broke my fast fashion ban and began online shopping again. I didn’t even try to avoid meat. I travelled far and wide, had a lot of fun, and thought little of the ethical consequences of it all. In some ways it was a two year period of hedonism and, as selfish as it might sound, a needed one. The frivolity of it all caught up to me – my life started to feel unprincipled and lacking in purpose, so I’ve come back to myself with a new, fresh set of eyes. 

Terms like ‘eco-anxiety’ and ‘eco-guilt’ might cause some to roll their eyes, but they can act as a real hindrance to effective and inclusive discussions around environmental action. In my case, they caused me to view environmentalism through a strict lens devoid of any nuance, then to abandon my morals almost completely. 

It is absolutely true no one ordinary individual can save the planet, and I’ve learned that this pursuit will only lead to burnout. A few years ago, I found myself constantly frustrated when other people didn’t seem to care as much as I did, despite the mounting pressure I felt from the impossibly high standard I had set for myself. It’s also worth noting that there is a level of privilege afforded to living a sustainable lifestyle that shouldn’t be overlooked – not being able to afford an EV does not make me, or anyone reading, a bad person. Instead of aiming for a world full of perfect environmentalists we need systemic change and collective action to make a real difference. 

Nowadays, I have found more of a balance. I buy second-hand when I can and new when I need to. I eat meat while drinking alternative milk. I can go on holidays, be a mindful tourist, and not feel like the world will collapse because of the emissions it costs to get me there. By no means do I believe that people shouldn’t try to live sustainably, the world would be a much better place if everyone did their part. But a guilty, frozen society will not make progress. A balanced lifestyle is one that feeds a passion for environmentalism and sustainability, not diminishes it.