For all the work I’ve done, all the things I think that I know, I have a narrative running in my head that the only authentic emotion that I’m allowed to feel is an overwhelming feeling of deep sadness, of worthlessness, of hopelessness. It feels too damn real to ignore, and everything else feels like indulgence, like I’m just fooling myself into thinking I deserve to just relax sometimes. Honestly, I don’t think my voice means a goddamn thing and that even when I do have good advice to give, people would rather hear it from anyone but me, which just adds to the weight on my psyche, that nothing I have to give is of any value.
I’ve deleted more posts than I’ve submitted, and hated everything I’ve written after re-reading it.
At the very least, I did have one realization over the last little while that really seems to bring light to all of this narrative.
When I start to do work in areas of my life that needs addressing, all of my pain that lives there comes to the surface. Every failure, every traumatic memory, every insecurity, all of it building inside of me like a pressure cooker. Even the most innocent of comments or thoughts will send me into a spiral and make me feel like all the work I’ve done on making myself a better person is going to be unraveled, and that the “truth”; that I’m a complete fraud that is worth nothing; will become apparent to not just me, but to everyone who knows me.
There’s healing I have to do, and I’ll have to be patient with myself in the meanwhile.