While I was stripping beds and gathering laundry today, in my very own house, I was thinking about where I was a year ago today. Not just physically, but mentally.
Deep down within myself.
It seems so odd, and distant, already. Almost dream like. The person that I was back then is almost someone I didn’t know, and never thought I would meet. But that person was very real. She was very scared, very defeated and very hurt. She was spinning her wheels in place, trying to find traction to prove she could keep moving forward, but she had no idea how to get out of the ditch she was in, and could not figure out how she got there in the first place. Her world had fallen apart, the wheels had come off of the wagon, and with it her self-esteem and her sense of self. She doubted everything. She didn’t trust herself, her instincts or her memory of the life she had before.
It was time to regroup, rewire and reclaim her self.
I had written at the beginning of 2016 that this would be my “Year of Yes”. I was so determined to move forward, bravely and forcefully, that I had to give it a name. And I had to blog about it – I made sure to let everyone that I knew know what my intentions were for 2016, so I could be held accountable. Not really a new year’s resolution, I assured myself, but a journey to self improvement.
I would push back against this force and I would be victorious!
It makes me sad now to read the desperation written into that blog entry. The way I wanted everyone to know that I could do this, I was stronger than anyone thought, and I would come out of it with few injuries and only a better version of myself.
Desperately wanting to ‘fix’ what was ‘wrong’ with me. Desperately wanting validation.
I took up sewing (thanks to a Groupon), decided to challenge myself to read 25 books in one year on Goodreads (even though I could barely finish a magazine article at the time), decided it was my life’s goal to take ballroom dance lessons, and agreed to the challenge to wear make-up everyday for thirty days to see if it changed my life. All with the mantra, “this is my year of yes!”
And I had to let the world know…or it wouldn’t count.
Looking back at it now, I panicked, plain and simple. I was borderline manic in my determination to recreate myself, to find out who I truly was and to become the best version of myself, if I am honest. And at the heart of it, without realizing it was there, was the idea that I was obviously not good enough.
If I was good enough, all of this would not be happening to me.
If I was good enough, my marriage would have been successful and we would have grown old together, happily. If I was good enough, he would have loved me unconditionally and treated me with love and respect. If I was good enough, I would have felt it in my heart and known it in my bones, and so would everyone else.
But I wasn’t. So, I had to fix it.
That’s what I do.
I look at a problem from all angles, I try to understand it almost clinically, and then I research for solutions. I take my research very seriously too, to the point that I will read every book, every blog, every magazine article and talk to all of my friends (and some of my family) to find the solution to my problem. It’s never easy, and it’s always a process, but the process is what keeps me going. The process is necessary. I need to understand the problem, to dissect it, before I can fix it.
But, in this case, I was the problem.
That was so clear to me. I was the problem. If only I was more fun, more interesting, more outgoing. Prettier, younger, smarter, more positive. This isn’t a new theme in my life, that voice of doubt has been playing in my head almost since I can remember, and maybe that’s exactly the problem. I have been listening to that voice in my head for so long that I tend to find – no, seek out – people who agree with it.
It’s so much easier that way. And comfortable. And so familiar.
Over the past year, I’ve come to realize that this is what I have been doing all along. I have been self-sabotaging, trying to live up to other people’s expectations and desires, in the hopes of feeling fulfilled…and enough.
But something has changed this past year, something coming from deep inside.
I have come to the conclusion that I am indeed enough, at least for me. Honestly, most of the time, I am more than enough. I can even be too much, if you’re not the right person, in the right moment. And I’m good with that.
I’ve cut ties with the people who have made me feel less than over the years, with ideas that have made me unhappy, and with expectations that only limit who I am.
I don’t need a “year of yes” to prove it.
It has taken the better part of a year, with all of it’s ups and downs and sharp turns, to take a long hard look at myself under a magnifying lens, and to forgive myself for doubting who I am all along. I have had to push through, with gritted teeth and white knuckled grip sometimes, to make it to the other side of this crazy mess – all the while trying to protect my kids, my family and sometimes my sanity. But in the end, I’ve done it and I keep on improving on it. I’ve proven that I am strong enough, smart enough, pretty enough. I am learning to accept and appreciate myself in ways that I never imagined because I was alway made to believe that I shouldn’t. I’ve finally opened up the door, and let in my true self.
And she’s pretty freaking awesome.