My last therapist abandoned me, both physically and emotionally. She had a death in the family and understandably took some time off. At first she said it would be for three weeks. The next email stated she needed three more. It was a bit of a shock, but I figured if I had kept myself alive for the past three weeks, then perhaps I could do it again. What got me through the temporary loss of support was hope. I know from experience that grief has no time line, and however she needed to cope was necessary for her at the time.
When I am around people I don’t know well or strangers, I feel translucent. It’s as if they don’t see me; what I am wearing or what I look like. I feel like my tanned skin becomes like a glass window, through which anyone can see. If they do stop to glance inside, they don’t see muscle and bone, but instead, see my truths. It’s like a movie of my life is constantly running for everyone to watch and no matter how hard I try I cannot close the curtains.
Insecurity is a bitch, rearing its ugly head at the most inopportune moments. For me, it attacks in the moment, every moment; anywhere, anytime. It does not giving me a minute’s rest. Insecurity does not walk alone. It is best friends with the prevalent negative voice that replays in your head over and over. One feeds off the other.
At what point in our lives did we become so self-critical. Do we learn self-criticism or is it inherent? Why are we so hard on ourselves and so much easier on others? Did we make some huge mistake we have never gotten over? Is it something our mothers once said we should be able to do, or our fathers wanted us to achieve? They didn’t know their words and expectations would stick to our hearts like glue, haunt our souls, and make our heads spin with an image of ourselves we cannot accept.
We are a society that thrives off of adversity, and pointing out these characteristics often starts in early childhood when we begin to highlight the negatives…