defang the monsters of insecurity, self-pity and self-harm because together we can weaken these beasts

I hesitated over the I’ve Done This button. Insecurity still lingers, though its siblings, self-pity and self-harm, have stopped visiting. I’ve done a lot to defang insecurity this year. I can’t claim that I never allow it to drape a heavy arm around my shoulders but it doesn’t bite me the way that it did. They’ve all been weakened and, more importantly, they’ve been outlined and defined and profiled thoroughly enough that succumbing to any one of them is now a conscious choice, not a hidden pattern.

I am a little jealous. I’ve never been jealous before. Even when I dated gorgeous tattooed rockstar guy and women hit on him like mad, I wasn’t jealous.

For the last month or so, I’ve seen some jealous feelings dart forth every once in awhile. I’m not sure why. Mr. Man loves me and is a good guy. It may be that as he becomes a larger part of my life, I project how much larger a wound it would be if he were to leave or cheat. It could also be related to telling a male friend that I am not available for anything other than friendship.

What happened to the woman who was secure enough to say, “I don’t care where you get your appetite as long as you eat in my kitchen”? I’m sure the evil monster Insecurity is at the heart of these feelings. Is it my upcoming birthday that has me spooked? Or his, which I know is hitting him hard? Am I anticipating him having a stereotypical midlife crisis?

Whatever it is, I need to stop insulting him and our relationship and remember my own worth and beauty, as well as the constant affection and love he expresses. Admitting that I have been jealous lately is the first step. The monsters don’t like to be looked at in the light. It shrinks them.

What an amazing experience I had this weekend. I had planned to spend Saturday owning the parts of me that were convinced and afraid that I am Worthless and Not Enough. I was too resistant and depressed to even drag myself out of bed. Finally, I got a mirror from the bedside table and started. I went from anxious anticipation to face-distorting hatred to boredom so deep I could barely keep my eyes open to doubting I had the discipline or time to own these in a single day.

Out of nowhere, I had an image of my late husband and me walking to the Mountain View library on a misty day. There was such sweetness in that man and we loved each other so much. It truly was a great love, for all its tragic end. I watched myself in the mirror cover my mouth and cry. I still thought I hadn’t been enough to save our marriage and him. I thought about other times I’d acted as if I was worthless. Relationships where men treated me horribly and I was desperate for any attention. The gift of those memories is that I’ll never go back into a situation like that. Taking a wrong turn with a “friend” in the car and him holding a knife to my throat. It seemed so unimportant whether or not he cut or killed me. The gift of being worthless then was that because I didn’t react, he dissolved into tears and we talked about how he felt sick and unlovable.

Then I realized that feeling worthless was what allowed me to love the unlovable. My greatest gift – being able to love without judgment or restraint – is the child of Worthless and Not Enough. Because I had seen myself as the lowest of all humans, I was able to extend my love to people that others hated. I imagined someone calling me worthless and actually smiled and said out loud, “Thank God. Without worthless, I wouldn’t be willing to love the unworthy. What else have you got?”

I got free! Worthless and Not Enough don’t scare me anymore. I’ve been running from this fear for 26 years and on Saturday I sat in its hungry mouth and now it’s a kitten asleep in my lap. I’ve finally cleared a way for me to see that I am worthy and enough and valuable to this world. I slept for hours after I had this realization. I was husked out, exhausted and lighter than I’ve been for years. I finally GOT the point of owning my shadow instead of dismissing it or running from it or trying to prove that I’m not those characteristics. I finally understood from experience that there are great gifts in the characteristics that I try to deny.

When I added this goal, I had no idea how perfectly it would fit what I’m doing now. I’ve got more work to do, for sure, but this was a base fear and clearing it out has cleared my vision. I think that it wasn’t a coincidence that I also cleared out a year and a half worth of old magazines and catalogs and gave my bathroom sink and toilet a good scrub. I’m clearing out room for the angels who are replacing these monsters as my constant companions. Best of all, I’m doing it without hating or disrespecting the monsters, who in their own horrific way are my best teachers.

I’m taking a free 90 day course on Radical Reinvention led by Debbie Ford and other coaches trained by her. We had the first of our weekly calls on Monday. I did my homework in bed today and realized that the area of my life that needs the most attention is my belief that I am worthy and deserving of love, health, creative success and financial ease ONLY if I do things well or (preferably) perfectly. The action step that I am taking this week is to remind myself, whenever I feel guilty or anxious or pressured to do more, more, better, better,

“I am a perfect lesson and a perfect student.”

Inherent in that statement is acceptance of where I am right now, acceptance of being a lesson for myself and others and acceptance of the student’s ignorance and willingness to see, learn and grow. To learn, I must admit that I do not know.

If you’re interested in the course, you can get info at http://www.debbieford.com/reinvent

I was talking with a friend yesterday who had a meeting on the mezzanine level of a building. She ended up in a near panic because she couldn’t remember what level that would be and she was convinced that it was such a stupid question that she ruled out walking into the building and asking someone.

I need to set up a videoconference at work. It’s the first time I’ve set one up here. I went online, I looked in our directory, I tried to find the info myself but it’s not anywhere. I finally steeled myself to ask the assistant to the Dean, who would no doubt think I was an idiot for not even knowing what department to call after three and a half years here. Guess what? She couldn’t find the info either! She was looking in the directory and wondering out loud why it was so difficult to find the information and making guesses.

I have a bad habit of assuming that what I don’t know, others learned in kindergarten. I believe I should just know how to do things even if it’s the first time I’m doing them. When I have to ask for help, I invariably feel stupid, when in fact I do a great job here and I’ve heard from all levels of administration that this is a tricky system to navigate. When I do figure out how to videoconference, I’m putting it down in a document that I can refer to if anyone asks me. I might even send it to the Dean’s assistant. Now I’m off to ask a bunch of people what I need to do next. I feel stupid, but I’m going to do it anyway.

it’s been a long, long time since I’ve wanted to harm myself. Has that particular monster been defanged? Not that the other two aren’t enough to derail me, but it would be nice to know I’d defeated at least one of these.

thinking about it. Stop thinking about it. Stopthinkingaboutit. Stop. StopstopstopstopSTOP! You can’t afford the distraction at work. You could be overreaccting. It could be that he understands and will make it up to you once he’s in a little better headspace himself. It doesn’t mean what you think it means. At least you don’t know that it does. Stop thinking about it. STOP THINKING ABOUT IT.

Self-blame was out in force last night and this morning, as I lay sleepless in Mr. Man’s bed after trying to help a friend of a friend process the fact that his girlfriend was just committed. Telling him about committing my husband and hearing him take to heart the accusations she made in the midst of despair brought it all back. I told Mr. Man that “every mistake I’ve ever made is ganging up on me.” I’ve gotten about an hour of sleep and am exhausted both physically and emotionally. I planned to come into work at noon and try to get some sleep but then remembered a few meetings and was here at 9:30am. I think I’ll leave early. I’m teary and not much good to anyone.

I did fairly well fighting off the blame, given the circumstances, mostly by chanting, “Don’t do this, Tiisme. Don’t do this” to myself and curling up into a tight ball next to Mr. Man’s comforting warmth. I woke him with my tossing and tears and he was sweetness itself, holding me close and telling me that I was loving, caring, strong, and a good friend, that I had made the decisions that I had to make and that although he hadn’t known me then he has no doubt that I made them with love and kindness in my heart. I’m playing my Om Nama Shivaya chant at work and that’s helping damp down the mean voices in my head. What helped most was imagining how sad it would make me if I were to read that one of my dear friends here was beating herself up the way in which I was tempted to do.

The hardest part of this particular and temporary trial is realizing anew just how merciless I am with myself. If I am not continually growing and bettering myself – physically, emotionally, intellectually, creatively and spiritually – then I feel that I’ve relinquished the right to enjoy anything, almost as if I have to earn the right to be alive every single day. Where did I pick up this attitude? I would tell a friend who felt this way that she was a gift to life, that she is vitally important and a joy to her friends. Why is it so difficult for me to see myself this way? This bears serious investigation.

I am cold and tired and sad and vulnerable and strong. Sometimes that last adjective seems the cruelest. At times like these I feel like a much abused marionette under the control of a relentless puppeteer named Strength. Wouldn’t it be kinder to collapse into a mass of limbs and strings? Perhaps this afternoon I’ll do just that. It’s what I would tell my friend.

It was odd. I fell asleep at around six and woke up when Mr. Man called me a little before ten. We chatted for a bit about nothing much and then I took off my makeup and went back to bed. Apparently the little bastards crept in while I was in the bathroom. As soon as my head hit the pillow, I was filled with that exquisitely itchy sense of undefined emotional discomfort. I tried resisting for awhile. I talked out loud for awhile. I sat up and yelled, then lay down and whimpered. Nothing helped. So I turned on the light and got out my journal.

What came out was an unexpected flood of complaint, judgment and self-attack. I attacked myself for not welcoming the increased work load that will come with a new director. I attacked myself for not working on the new novel. I attacked myself for being unfit, unambitious, unfocused and unwilling to help my friends or society. I called myself “pointless” and said that I was doing nothing to justify being alive. I attacked Mr. Man for not asking the right questions. I attacked my friends for being clingy or shallow. It wasn’t pretty on that page, let me tell you. But I knew better than to try to be happy or reasonable or compassionate until I had all the emotion out where I could see it.

At some point, it became too much. I argued back. My life is NOT pointless. I have already written one novel and I am investigating these two characters. I am not unwilling to help but I do have firm boundaries with those who would gladly drain me dry. There isn’t a webcam that Mr. Man can watch to see what I want to talk about with him. I’m a big girl and can initiate conversations. True, I don’t know what sort of job will make me happy long-term but I have a job that pays the bills and allows me to kick debt’s ass and build a buffer fund.

It seemed to come out of nowhere. But between that and the awakening of my Inner Cranky Toddler, clearly something is going on that needs investigating. I have been tired lately, that deep bone fatigue that is so discouraging. I have been wondering, deep inside, whether I will ever love anyone as much as I loved my late husband and how I can move forward loving Mr. Man a LOT but not with the same unquestionable force that flowed through my marriage. A few deaths lately have brought up the question of what I’d be remembered for if I died right now. (I didn’t, by the way. You can tell ‘cause I’m still typing.)

Most of all, I wonder why this necessary information can’t be brought to me by messengers more kind than insecurity, self-pity and self-harm. Perhaps if I sat down regularly in meditation, just watching the thoughts and emotions hit the screen of my mind, I wouldn’t be blindsided this way. Perhaps the monsters are kinder than I think and serve a purpose. Perhaps I just need more sleep and more movement in my life. Maybe all three are true.

this entry.