I used to be a fighter. I would climb atop the highest horse possible and dismount into the most self-righteous power stance I could take as I would retaliate with pride, courage, and unfortunately, anger. I always believed it was the world that was hard, unyielding, brutal. And around this belief, for most of my life, I have been at war with myself.
But this has recently changed. I no longer fight, and for this, I am grateful. It is not that the tendency to jump down the throats of anyone foolish enough to challenge me is not there, it is. But now, I wait. I think about why I'm angry, and beneath that, I always feel the pain. The pain of the fear of my suspicion.
I suspect that I am unworthy. I have an inkling that I do not deserve good things. I have a hunch that my time is not as valuable as the time of the people I know and work with. These fleeting thoughts and feelings are what upsets me when I am treated like my efforts, my space, my very time does not matter. It is not that someone else is treating me this way, it is that this treatment is confirming the thoughts that haunt me in my darkest moments.
But I have been practicing walking away for as long as I need to and feeling these things, asking myself if they are true, moving through my fear and anger, and coming to the pain. I am training myself to be friends with the ache that has for so long controlled me, for so long had me exploding at friends, colleagues, and loved ones alike, in fear that I might be right. In fear of unlovable. As I sit with this pain, I know that none of this is true.
It has always been too easy to blame myself, to tell myself I must be the problem if my parents are screaming at me, or ignoring me, or my boyfriend is lying to me, or this business man is harassing me, it has always been, "it must be me, it must be me, it must be me."
But it is almost never me. I have given up trying to control the actions of the people around me and more importantly, I have stopped blaming myself for their bad behavior. I still have the inkling, I just don't believe it any longer.
This last week, I was treated more than once as if I was not worthy of the love, respect, and admiration any human is due. In both cases, instead of flying into a rage, I withdrew and gave myself an opportunity to act with compassion for myself. Instead of self-blame, I sunk deeply into my sadness and examined myself. I cried. I held myself in a soft place until I could come out of it confident and softened.
Being hard, tough as nails, or as an old friend used to say, "a pleasing creature with sharp edges," is exhausting. It just wears me down and gives me one more thing to regret or attempt to maneuver into justification later.
I hold more compassion for myself in these moments, and in so doing, hold more compassion for the thoughtless mistakes people sometimes make.
I write about this now after decades of struggling with my anger in the dark without a compass. I have had years and years of therapy, hundreds of different alternative modalities exercised upon my energetic system, and many opportunities to practice not jumping to anger, and here I am, almost 50, and the thing I never thought of, treating myself more tenderly, with more compassion and love, has finally yielded the grace I have been seeking all this time.
I have found the courage to not believe the lie and the compassion to believe that I am worthy.
But this has recently changed. I no longer fight, and for this, I am grateful. It is not that the tendency to jump down the throats of anyone foolish enough to challenge me is not there, it is. But now, I wait. I think about why I'm angry, and beneath that, I always feel the pain. The pain of the fear of my suspicion.
I suspect that I am unworthy. I have an inkling that I do not deserve good things. I have a hunch that my time is not as valuable as the time of the people I know and work with. These fleeting thoughts and feelings are what upsets me when I am treated like my efforts, my space, my very time does not matter. It is not that someone else is treating me this way, it is that this treatment is confirming the thoughts that haunt me in my darkest moments.
But I have been practicing walking away for as long as I need to and feeling these things, asking myself if they are true, moving through my fear and anger, and coming to the pain. I am training myself to be friends with the ache that has for so long controlled me, for so long had me exploding at friends, colleagues, and loved ones alike, in fear that I might be right. In fear of unlovable. As I sit with this pain, I know that none of this is true.
It has always been too easy to blame myself, to tell myself I must be the problem if my parents are screaming at me, or ignoring me, or my boyfriend is lying to me, or this business man is harassing me, it has always been, "it must be me, it must be me, it must be me."
But it is almost never me. I have given up trying to control the actions of the people around me and more importantly, I have stopped blaming myself for their bad behavior. I still have the inkling, I just don't believe it any longer.
This last week, I was treated more than once as if I was not worthy of the love, respect, and admiration any human is due. In both cases, instead of flying into a rage, I withdrew and gave myself an opportunity to act with compassion for myself. Instead of self-blame, I sunk deeply into my sadness and examined myself. I cried. I held myself in a soft place until I could come out of it confident and softened.
Being hard, tough as nails, or as an old friend used to say, "a pleasing creature with sharp edges," is exhausting. It just wears me down and gives me one more thing to regret or attempt to maneuver into justification later.
I hold more compassion for myself in these moments, and in so doing, hold more compassion for the thoughtless mistakes people sometimes make.
I write about this now after decades of struggling with my anger in the dark without a compass. I have had years and years of therapy, hundreds of different alternative modalities exercised upon my energetic system, and many opportunities to practice not jumping to anger, and here I am, almost 50, and the thing I never thought of, treating myself more tenderly, with more compassion and love, has finally yielded the grace I have been seeking all this time.
I have found the courage to not believe the lie and the compassion to believe that I am worthy.
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