I belong to an informal online community of writers and would-be writers. When I thought I’d found the perfect way to address an issue the others were wrestling with, I posted that comment. As is the routine, I then bashed myself: “Really? You had to weigh in? Isn’t that showing off?”
Had I not shared, I would’ve bashed myself for that.
This time there was a twist to the routine. I looked at myself with the same compassion I show my daughter and wondered why, no matter what I do, a little voice starts yelling at me about it being the wrong thing. I’ve been marinating in that sentiment for as long as I can remember. The tape that plays in my head hammers on the same point: “You’re doing it wrong.” Life, that is. So of course I became the person who’s always tempted to apologize for showing up at all.
Doing what works means seeing that for what it can be, an old story. Because, for example, the comment I just mentioned helped one woman enough she printed it out or bookmarked it or whatever to make sure she remembered it. She promised I’d struck the chord I intended.
My intent is to heal, and to help others do the same.
Maybe life is less a contest than a climb. Small wins are still wins. The closer I pay attention to how I feel when the mean voices prevail, the looser their grip becomes. I haven’t taken any pain medication for five weeks and four days now -- not one pill! -- and I can’t imagine feeling prouder of myself had I defended a PhD dissertation.
Have you heard what I have, that self-love is the highest vibrational frequency? What if it’s true? What if it’s not only okay to think you’re okay, but the best gift you can bestow on yourself and the world? Let’s all try to go a little easier on ourselves, and let those ripples spread.
We can't control what others think only what we think. We must remember this. It can keep us sane.