I reached a point in my online therapy regime where I needed to start facing my fears and causes of anxiety. I had done this for a little less than a week and I came to a realization. A light-bulb moment. Eureka!
One of my core issues is that I’m not enough.
Or I think I’m not.
And I really thought back hard and wide into the near and far past to make sure I’m on the right track and low and behold, it makes perfect sense!
Ever since I remember I had to do better, be faster, work harder, push, push, push! To the point of not being able to butter a slice of bread without it having to be a perfectly even layer of whatever spread on all corners of the bread all the way to ‘’I am just going to fuck it up anyway so what’s the point?’’
I feel as though it is heavily related to having to take the shit from my bullies when I was a kid, having to swim my childhood away, jumping into a relationship before I knew what’s good for me and what isn’t. You know, all the good shit from a baby to this day.
The effects of this? Devastating.
I didn’t learn to trust my own judgment, I didn’t learn to trust my own wants and passions. I didn’t know it’s ok to just be me and do me. And what I did know is that other people are more qualified to tell me about all that.
Get a job, don’t chase your dreams about writing, go to this school because it’s my dream, not yours (yup, that happened, I went to school for occupation I did not want for me, I wanted it for someone else). Get your priorities straight (this is something the department head at the time in that unwanted moment of schooling told me when I told them I wanted to write). It makes me incredibly sad.
How did I come to not be able to trust even myself?
Why wasn’t I enough?
Why am I still not enough?
Why does it keep haunting me?
At the moment I am scared of everything. Especially failure. If I make a mistake it is the end of the world. If I say or do something someone is disappointed by (which is pretty much all the time because who am I kidding, I’ll always be a disappointment) I get anxious and panicky. If I try to write well… I can’t do much and it is a struggle since my past tells me it’s a worthless endeavor.
That’s just it isn’t it. I’m worthless because I’ll never be enough.
Or so I thought.
Fuck the people that tell me I can’t do this or that, that I should do ABC instead. Fuck someone else’s family issues and them affecting how and who I am. Fuck the ones that will tell me I won’t make it.
Because you know what, I started asking questions.
Who is it that defines if I’m enough?
Who is it that decides what makes me happy?
Who is it that does not owe anyone an explanation of why that one step I take in the morning when I feel like life is not worth it but coffee is, is enough?
It’s me and me alone.