She asked what messages of compassion I got in my childhood. I usually have a lot to say when asked any question, but this time I wasn’t sure how to answer. The first thing that finally came out of my mouth was “no matter what, make sure you look good and put together,” then, “and you’re just being dramatic. Don’t be ridiculous.” I guess some people had childhoods where they were taught self compassion? Where it’s ok to be sad or scared or not perfect. I paused and silently wondered if my thought patterns could ever change — if I could express this so-called “compassion” to myself, to let myself know it’s ok to not only fail, but also to ask for and accept help.
I don’t want to be a burden on anyone. My self worth is completely tied to my independence and autonomy. I think that’s, in some ways, a good thing. I’m not reliant on anyone else. I pay my bills. I figure things out. I make it work. But, I guess, sometimes it’s ok — and not a sign of weakness — to need help (and preferably not always charged at a therapist’s hourly billable rate.)
With help or alone, I’ve got a long, long way to go to shift my thinking patterns… but what’s more important now is, as a soon-to-be mother, really embracing compassion in this family. Not only must I provide room for a compassionate upbringing, but I think it’s so important to not ever let my child hear me talk down to myself, or see the result of that should I feel like an absolute failure on any given day. This is no longer a self-improvement quest with minimal impact on others. This is vital to my ability to be a good mother — and more than anything else, that’s what matters right now.
One positive is that my husband is sweet and kind and loving and filled with compassion. If it wasn’t for him, I’d be less optimistic this can be accomplished. But, maybe together we can have this emotionally healthy family. We can make it ok to be scared but also take time to discuss why we are afraid and confront our demons together, never alone.
I imagine having such self-compassion would be quite the relief. It would be a long, cool breath of fresh air following so many years of this internal monologue on a repetitive loop — “you are horrible,” “you are a failure,” “no one likes you,” “you are a fraud,” “you can’t do anything right,” “you’re useless,” “why the f*%k did you say that,” “god, that was the worst thing to say,” “did you really just press send on that email,” “you’re so awkward,” “you should just stop talking entirely, forever,” “you don’t belong here. you don’t belong anywhere,” “everyone knows you’re a fake,” “you should just give up,” “you’re going to fail, no matter how hard you try,” and so on* (*actual thoughts that run through my mind on a daily basis — yeay-isn’t-it-fun-being-me.) I guess not everyone thinks these things. Sure, everyone has moments of self doubt (sans maybe the sociopaths) but I think this is maybe a bit more than normal.
(**ps. If you know me in real life, please note I am not posting this in order to fish for compliments or some sort of reaction. I’m simply sharing the realities of living with depression and the toxic thinking that is unhelpful but challenging to replace with more positive thoughts — hence my investment in therapy.)
She asked if I want to change. If I want to take a new path, or I don’t. And she asked, if I don’t, where I see myself ending up. “I don’t know,” I said, those familiar tears welling up in my eyes. “Where do I end up? Do I keep going like this? Do I end up in a hospital somewhere? How long can I keep living like this?” I stopped, then said “yes, I want to change. I want a new path. I can’t do this anymore.”
None of these suggestions are new. But maybe this time, I can embrace this new path. I can combat these extremely harmful thoughts and give myself room to not be perfect. Because no one is perfect and also I’m not some super-high IQ / creative genius and that’s ok. Average is OK. It’s ok to not always have the right answer or best content structure or brilliant creative idea or to be able to get a thousand things done in under what might as well be a minute because achieving the impossible is perhaps my only current path to feeling a modicum of self worth.
I can’t be this person and be a mother. After years and years of the same old, here I am, nearly 35, and presented with something entirely new. A new life I’m responsible for. A person who will not know me for who I was, but who will only know me as “mom.” Who will look up to me with wide eyes trusting that I know how to take care of it, that I have all the right answers to all those questions that kids are sure to ask. I have to take this new path. I have to be kinder to myself, because I’m not, why should anyone else be, and how will I ever teach my child the resilience necessary to thrive?
life with interest 