I don’t know about you, but I love self-improvement. The idea that I can change my thoughts and outlook and as a result, my life is exciting to me.
I have been a fan since I first stumbled upon a well-worn copy of the Louise Hay classic “You Can Heal Your Life” for $2 at a yard sale when I was about 19 years old, I remember at the time thinking that $2 seemed a little steep for a beaten up book, but the rainbow heart on the white cover resonated hope and change, and I figured if someone else got so much value out of this book that they had dog-eared the pages and taped the spine to keep it intact, well then, maybe it would do the same for me.
I don’t know what I was looking for. Does any 19-year-old?
Some peace? Validation? Concepts not even on my radar in words yet.
Was it a way to make sense of my thoughts and impulses? A way to like me? I had spent a great deal of time throughout my late teens hating everything about myself, I felt like I was just all wrong, I was a waste of space. I didn’t fit anywhere, except with my friends, getting stoned and drunk while letting go of everything that filled my head. Getting wasted felt great, I just felt like I could be me, without all the heavy thoughts and feelings that were with me almost constantly. I was brave and bold and funny, until the tipping point, which is so obvious with alcohol and then I would be the opposite of brave and bold and funny.
I had big dreams for myself, but I knew there was no way I would ever achieve them, I didn’t know where or how to start. I didn’t know how to ask for help, I didn’t know the words to say or who to ask. Dreams of the future and being worthy of achieving those dreams were for others, not me. It just wasn’t in my realm of understanding. I didn’t know how to make a plan, or how to follow through.
I guess that’s one of the drawbacks of leaving home at 17, you’re hobbled before you even start the race.
I just had to get out, to get away from my angry solo mother, where I continually felt like such a disappointment to her. There was no encouragement or validation, no warm fuzzies, no thoughtful gestures, and definitely no mother/daughter bestie relationship, like the ones I witnessed around me. Of course, not all of my friends counted their mothers as their best friends, but there were enough to make me see mine was not like that. I felt like I could never do anything right.
Although there was a brief moment, I do remember when I was about 16 thinking that Mum and I were moving towards friendship, as we were sitting in the lazy autumnal sun one afternoon having a great conversation about life and I really opened up and shared with her all the big ideas I had, as well as the situations friends were going through (pregnancy, abortion and suicidal thinking type things – regular teen stuff as far as I could see) and other things that were going on in my life personally, a boy I had a crush on, a concert I wanted to go to. I distinctly remember the nice relaxed feeling I had for the rest of the afternoon, thinking that maybe mum wasn’t so bad. That it felt so good to talk to her, like a person.
That lasted for about a hot minute, and before the end of the week, she was back to yelling at me about everything but now with the added bonus of using everything I told her as poison darts to throw at me over the next month or so. I felt so angry at myself for being so stupid to think she wanted to be friends. That effectively closed the door to any open and honest communication between us from then on. Because you know as a teen, we are so rational…
So this interesting book introducing the concept that I could change the judgey self-loathing and self-talk seemed akin to magic.
I had never heard of such a thing.
I read and reread the book, and started repeating things to myself, diligently following the instructions and doing the exercises. Some suggested actions (such as looking myself in the eyes in the mirror and declaring I loved myself) seemed a bit crazy until I tried it. And I could barely even return my own gaze.
Whoa, I was even more f*d up than I imagined, or so I thought.
What was it with me judging myself so harshly in my youth?
I started repeating things to myself, positive things, over and over. It was foreign, and completely alien to me at first, I felt like a phony. And even though I was not brave enough to actually tell anyone what I was doing, because you know, they’d think I was crazier than they probably thought I already was. I stuck with it and gradually started to feel lighter. Happy even.
So of course I stopped doing it and went on with my merry little life. As you do. If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. Right?
This started my lifelong love affair with evolution, self-development, self-improvement, and self-awareness, and it is both a blessing and a curse. Continually digging, figuring out how I ended up in a particular situation, what makes me tick, what needs healing, what needs pulling out and inspecting, is truly a lifelong journey.
It’s not constant, and there have been long periods of time where I have just lived my life, traveled, partied, learned careers, and just lived. Then I start feeling unsatisfied, wanting to know how and why everything that was so satisfying a short time ago, or for such a long time was not anymore.
I heard once that self-improvement is like peeling an onion, you get one layer off and there are still so many more.
I still love the journey and the process though. And I’m much nicer to myself these days too, and as a result, I can give grace to others as well.
I generally like to think that we are all doing the best we can with what we have, but I’ve come to understand that some people are not doing the best they can, some people are doing the bare minimum to get by. And I can’t fix that. I can only fix myself.
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