Monday morning and I wonder what the week have in store.
Having a rare morning when I’m not the one dropping the kids off.
I left the weekly planning undone yesterday. I’ll still have to do that.
Because after my journaling, and all morning chores.
I found myself back at this post idea.
As I know several of you picked up on, I struggle, have always struggled, but hope to evolve past struggling, with self-worth, self-love, self-esteem, self-confidence…
That struggle are permanent damage from my lonely and loveless childhood. I’ve spent years dealing with in both in and out of therapy. And I thought I had a better handel on it. But apparently if I fall down the well of depression, all my old programming re-installs itself.
It’s a process and at times a frustratingly slow one, but since spring I’ve been trying to figure out how I got here, and how to get away from here. Since I’ve already experienced the mother of all fatigue syndrome depressions, coupled with my screwy history, and learning to live with permanent pain from whiplash. I decided during the summer, that actually I know quite a bit about getting myself out of a depression, and the fact that it is years since the last time means I should pat myself on the back for doing a stellar job under terrible conditions.
Which brings me back to being kind to yourself. To loving yourself.
Somewhere I ran across the idea to get yourself a new inner voice.
The Advocate. She, for mine has to be female, maybe a character from The Good Fight, but to each their own. Anyways, she/he/it would always be in your corner, always on your side against censors, critics and saboteurs.
I guess that people without my scars probably get an construct like this constructed along a loving childhood and adolescence.
So three weeks ago, I sat down one night and wrote how proud I where of myself for daring to share my poetry with the world. How humbled and grateful I am that others read, like and comment on my writing.
I did this precisely because my negative inner voices where making a loud racket, telling me how worthless I am, how my writing might be done by randomly hitting a keyboard, and so on…
And ever since then, I have reminded myself (probably daily) to be kind, and to appreciate myself. To give myself credit for all the thing I accomplish in a week.
I’ve also tried to seek out people and experiences to make me feel better. Everything from asking if I could join a bord game day, to extra walks in the autumn sun.
Has it helped?
Yes, a little. I am kinder to myself in thought. I have some extra impulse to be on my own side. But my advocate still has some growing up to do, before she alone can stand up too the army of mean critics.