The consequences of coming at things from a place of believing you are broken.

I was recently on a course that talked about stress relief using a thing called transactional analysis. It really piqued my interest as it began with the assumption that everyone is coming from a while place of being ok and that things are going to be alright. I realised for the first time that I’ve always approached things with the assumption that I am broke, deficient or in some way lacking knowledge or insight. I grieve the time I’ve spent on these thoughts.

Now I’m not saying that this statement on the course will change the trajectory of my life but it really got me thinking. I don’t approach other people as though they are broken or lacking in some way so why do I do it to myself? Is it because I’ve got it “wrong” so often? That I usually feel distanced or separate from everyone else or that it shouldn’t be this hard just to live my life?

It’s probably all of those things and more. But here’s the thing. I don’t have to believe everything I think. What if? Just for a little while, I tried not believing those thoughts that tell me I need to change, improve or heal? What if, just sometimes, I came at things thinking I was enough just the way I am.

The consequences of being told your whole life you are wrong

I recently read Jamie Kern Lima’s book Worthy. Well, I listened to it on audible as I walked my dogs in the morning. But it had a free pdf workbook that I went through and answered the questions. It really helped me solidify the thoughts I was having around the messages I had been internalising my whole life. I really loved the central message, that you don’t have to change. I’ve spent my whole life in development of a better self. I don’t necessarily think that working on yourself in order to improve and grow is a bad thing – quite the opposite! I do wonder if I was doing it from the wrong place though.

Growth and change

In my work with children I firmly believe that you can’t help them to change their behaviour by making them feel bad about themselves. I’m vehemently anti punishment and evangelical about getting rid of classroom behaviour charts. And yet, here I am, berating myself daily and displaying in my diary and journal all my shortcomings and plans to improve. As though that will force the changes I want to see.

The consequences of this shaky foundation (I’ve talked in a previous post about ADHD children being corrected more than NT ones) are that I have very little trust in my millions of fleeting thoughts. Even when I can catch one and isolate it long enough to examine it. It’s easier to keep moving on. There’s a famous quote along the lines of ‘if you don’t tell people who you are they will tell you’. It was so much easier just to listen to them.

It doesn’t work though, you can’t please all of the people all of the time and at the end of the day you are left with yourself. A hollowed out, exhausted shell with so little to show for the effort you have put in.

Acorns and butterflies

So instead the experiment will be watering the acorn. Not shouting at it to hurry and become an oak tree. To stop berating the cocoon. Resisting the urge to pop it open and see if the butterfly is ready yet.

Developing self trust is one of my acorns. I need to keep making sure its watered and being brought into the light. Its not a broken oak tree. I’m not sure why I thought it was ok to see myself in the same way.

The consequences of being scared of being overwhelmed by your own emotions

Two things I have been trying to work out for a long time are my really deep emotions coupled with my difficulties in sensing the passing of time. I had developed a bit of a reputation for having a heart of stone. A carefully cultivated barrier that, to the outside world including my children, kept me from feeling or expressing deep emotion.

This analogy couldn’t have been further from the truth. I hadn’t realised until recently that I was terrified of how big and soft my heart was. That my meticulously built defences were a coping strategy stemming from being told that I shouldn’t feel the way I feel as a kid. I didn’t know that other people didn’t experience things with the same all consuming, visceral feelings that I did. I couldn’t understand their derision. So in the spirit of being a good, likeable girl, I stuffed it all down and built a big wall around it.

Danger: Fire Risk

You see my feelings are completely overwhelming and yet also hard to find the edges of. I don’t ‘feel’ them in my body in the way that others do. I can’t describe them in the moment or catch them as they start to build. They just consume every part of me and set everything on fire. I can’t define them until I gaze out over the smouldering wreckage and find the source. I also don’t know how long the fire will burn or trust in my abilities to put it out before it becomes an inferno. As you can imagine, this is scary as a child and excruciating as a hormone soaked teenager. That was like walking around being doused in petrol and worrying in case anyone struck a match nearby.

So its much more convenient for me (and those who have to live with me) if I don’t ever let the spark catch. A feat that everyone but me seems to realise is actually impossible. I have spent so long trying to look back on situations where I’ve failed to catch the ignition. To try to recognise them in the future. Like a fire investigation officer. I’m getting better at it – I can recognise anxiety in a meeting now as I tend to talk over others. I can catch myself pelting the shoes my family leave at the bottom of the stairs to the top. Realising only then that I’ve had a stressful day. But I do spend a lot of time just hoping I’m not going to catch fire and burn up entirely.

I don’t have to set myself on fire to stay warm

Intellectually I know this isn’t a healthy way to live your life. That not expressing your feelings isn’t good for you. So I’ve been experimenting with the nice ones. The warm glowing ones that light me up inside. I’ve written before about Ross Gay’s The Book of Delights. I now actively look for things to be delighted by, I can also feel joy in lots of different places and let it flow through me – taking its time as I listen to music or walk at sunrise. They are shared most days on social media (threads hashtag daily delights). I keep a notebook by my bed of where and how love showed up for me that day.

I suspect I’ll always find these areas tricky to navigate. I’m giving myself grace to learn how to do it. All feelings are just for feeling and they give me information with which to make decisions. I’m trying to see them as a tunnel instead of a bottomless pit and conquer my fear of falling in. Its hard to trust your feelings though when they threaten to incinerate you.