I’ve hated myself over many things. I’d tell you, but why feed the beast? Getting that voice inside our heads to behave, now that’s the tricky part.
It starts young, this voice, this critic. It’s like we were never set up to win. At least not long after we were kids. At some point it hits you, this delicate balance, the fine yet blurry line. This critic crosses over ever so smoothly, from the protective arm across your chest as you hit the brakes to gripping you so hard it bruises your ribs.
Each day I wake up knowing if I don’t breathe deep that arm will grip me tighter.
Each day I have to pay attention, remind myself that I can accept its presence but I don’t have to give in.
Each day I need to treat myself with less judgement and more compassion. And I can do the same when I talk to my kids, because I read that my voice will become theirs in a few short years.
Occasionally, I test the waters.
When I hang out with my kids, I’m tickled by their young ideas and made-up words. Like most 6 and 7 year olds, they’re entertaining, often nonsensical or downright hilarious. I listen, I laugh, then sneak in the heavy duty questions.
In a recent conversation with my 6 year old son about dinosaurs and Legos and other things he loves, I asked him, “Do you like yourself?” He replied, “Mommy, I like AND love myself.”
I won’t lie, I felt giddy inside. On the outside, I gave him a big smile and a tighter hug.
Whatever fails await me tomorrow, I will take this win today.
As adults we surrender slavishly to that inner critic, bowing deep and taking what it gives us. We forget – admit it – to like ourselves, let alone love. That 4 letter word stopped being stocked in our pantry long ago, replaced with other choice words, 4, 5 , 6 letters, and then some.
What ever happened to being civil with ourselves? And maybe thinking, hey…I’m doing okay. I’m O-KAY.
I don’t always want to rely on the next success, the validation, the luck or the Likes to feel worthy. Don’t get me wrong, I’ll run with it and you can find me air-fisting and woohoo-ing all over my living room floor. But as great as that is, I want to get as close as I can to a 6 year old’s honesty.
That type of love is not optional, it’s critical.
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