I’ve been collecting some things I’m learning and accepting about myself since starting this 40 day Self-Compassion experiment – some happy realisations, some not so happy, but all things I think I’m ready to finally share with you on this 29th day…
The following is a text I got from one of my closest friends of the past 10 years or so:
“Atta girl. I love how you are meeting these challenges and taking them head-on with a positive outlook. So much more different than the Lily I knew 9 years ago. This one’s more take control take action type of girl. Love you.”
My response was one of shock and gratitude. He went on to write:
“I sincerely mean it. You’ve gotten more aggressive and taken on responsibility more directly. You’re more like, “Let me do it. Then I know it will get done right.” When you lost that money in Frisco, you moved on. Something didn’t work, you moved on. I love how you don’t look back and whine about stuff. These aren’t just words, I sincerely mean it. Very inspirational. Your daughter should look to you and take example. As well as others. Keep going strong my love! You are a force to be reckoned with.”
I was so touched by this, that I literally took a photo of the texts and placed that image in a special album on my i-phone. I felt I would need to see it again someday, in case I sink as low as I was 29 days ago. And, of course, I secretly thought to myself, “If he only knew.”
I’m blessed to have people like this in my life who take the time to reflect to me the growth they see in me. Too often, I spend time reviewing all my weaknesses and how much further I’ve yet to go (is that “whining?”), and rarely, if ever, do I spend even a fraction of that time on recognising how far I’ve actually come. I attribute the failure to give myself kudos to the fact that I’ve been emotionally breaking down for 6 years, at the very least.
Which brings us to the “not so happy.” (And I realise I’m risking making a liar out of my friend here, as some would deem the following as “looking back and whining about stuff,” but I like to see this as purging.)
My marriage. The hysterectomy. Paris. The combination of the three.
When I met my husband, I was soaring. I was happy, living my dream, manifesting on a daily basis one of the main things on my “list-of-things-to-do-before-I-die-so-I-die-happily” list. I’d only one thing left, and even that seemed possible, at the time. But he was in a different head space. He hated Paris. He hated Parisians. He was depressed. And like a good empath, I absorbed all this ugliness. I let it in. It’s my fault for doing this. Not his. But, oh, how tempting it is to be angry at him for this, to say that he destroyed my dream. Yes, I’m afraid I’ve still a lot of work to do on that regard….
And the hysterectomy. I wasn’t sick enough to get that hysterectomy before I met him. I was making progress, healing, doing all the energetic work necessary to keep the poison in my body at bay – to remove it, in fact. But the strain and stress of a relationship gone quickly south, along with the invasion of negative energy (replacing all the positive I’d learned to so effortlessly manifest) had its way, and soon enough, the poison began to grow and infest my power chakra to a dangerous level. I had no choice but to get it removed through further invasion – this time, by way of French doctors who botched the original plan (to simply remove the poison manually by hand – no cutting) so who ended up cutting – unbeknownst to me, at the time. Needless to say, I felt violated.
Feeling now lower, weaker, and more helpless than ever, or at least in a very long time, I grew to depend on my would-be husband for emotional support. Emotional support that I never got. And not for years following. Any mini-rejuvenating I’ve managed to experience in these past 6 years has been of my own doing. I realise it’s my job to take care of myself, ultimately, but it would’ve been nice to have my husband’s support. I hurt a lot over this one.
And the three of these major life setbacks get all intertwined, becoming one huge, ugly, messy, angry, confusing blob, for lack of a better word. And that blob keeps me from moving forward in my relationship. It keeps me from believing in myself. And far too often, it has kept me from the one thing that I always had in my darkest hours, the one thing that kept me going: hope.
Until now. Doing this Self-Compassion experiment has given me hope for the first time in far too long. It’s only a tiny modicum of hope, but it’s there, nonetheless. Sometimes, I wonder if what I’m feeling really is hope, but then, I realise that if it weren’t, I wouldn’t be getting up every day to meditate and do yoga and say loving things to myself and go on auditions and love my pets and cook delicious meals for myself and dress pretty and try new things and make space for creativity and smile at children…I do wonder if I’m only able to do all this because I’m alone. I do fear that when he moves back I may regress. I do worry that I’ll never be able to move past the blob. But for now, I have hope. Pray it stays this time.