Defeating Fear of Failure and Fear of Success

For those of you who have been reading my blog for a while, you've read about my fear of failure and success. I know that sounds weird in some ways, but it can really happen. My fear developed when I was very young. Whenever I did something that was supposedly not good. I say supposedly because my super dysfunctional parents were judge and jury. Anyway, whenever I did something that was a fail I was severely berated. On the other hand, when I did something that someone else recognized as good my parents still berated me only it was a bit more cruel. They enjoyed watching the joy in me fade. Okay, I'm  not going to dwell on the subject. That is not the focus of the post. With that being said...this is the year of COURAGE for me.

Embracing fear has not been the hard part. After all, it's been part of my life for so long, embracing it was just a matter of accepting that it's something I can't help, but want to change, if I can. Facing fears is not for the faint of heart. I've opened myself up to experiences that I never imaged I would or could ever do. One of those experiences was sharing something that I wrote in a public setting, on stage in front of real people. Just me and a spot light. Picture that... If you told me I was even going to contemplate doing such a thing I would have said you were a lie and the truth is not in you. Whoa, I haven't said that since I was a kid. So I stood there and I started to recite my lines. I started off strong, but flailed miserably towards the end. I could have run off the stage and out the door, but instead, I stayed to watch the rest of the acts. I did get some applause, but I knew I had bombed and the audience was just being nice. How sucky is it to feel so much shame at No Shame Theater. By the end of the night I felt pretty good about myself, because I walked out of there with my head held up because I had the courage to step out on that limb and be totally cool if I perched comfortably or fell off like a stone. Plus there was that one young lady who stopped to tell me that I did a good job. Nice.

One other guest invited to the fear party is my fear of being seen. If I had a super power I'd want to be invisible. Negative body image is one of the reasons. Safety is another. If I could be as quiet as possible and kind of hang out in the shadows I had a better chance of not getting yelled at or beaten. I kind of perfected it. Well, I better than perfected it. I became nonexistent. I had become invisible. Even in glass my teachers rarely remembered I was there. I mastered blending in with the background. It was good and it was bad.

Standing out and being noticed was like being naked in a crowd. I couldn't handle it. So for me to stand on a stage...

I've have several wonderful experience since then. I took my son to another healing drum session. The first time I took him I just sat in a corner sipping tea while my son danced shamelessly. I envied him. This time I grabbed an Axatse (pronounced ah-HAHt-say) which is a gourd shaker covered with a beaded net. I danced and played with the beat of the drums. I was center of attention for a brief moment. I actually enjoyed it. It was liberating. Meanwhile, my son had drawn his own crowd. People watched with amazement as he kept up with the all the other drummers. A crowed gathered outside the little club to listen as we played. When everything was over, the owner of the club came over to me and thanked me for coming and bringing my son. That was a first.

Many more wonderful events and super opportunities have come since the night I stepped out on that limb. What I've enjoy most is being able to shamelessly enjoy life with my son. I look forward to turning over a few more new leaves.

Love this video! I'm not there yet, but I'm well on my way.

Onward and Upward!  

No More Hiding: Letting Go At Last

Prayer is an intricate part of my healing journey. One of the many things I've prayed for is the ability to see myself through my own eyes...not the eyes of my parents.

It took some time before I realized that I did not know myself or see myself as ought to. I only saw what my parents taught me to see. I saw a life not worth living beyond the service I provided. I put all others before myself, fulfilling their needs...my sole priority. I saw ability that would never be recognized and a thirst that would never be quenched. Deprivation was my reward and pain my only inheritance.

It's also very difficult to see yourself when you are not allowed to make even the most simple decisions for yourself. Hair was one of those things that seemed to be more of an issue than need be.

I used to sit in front of my mirror every evening and cry. My hair was always the same. Two or three ponytails with huge ribbons or bows that matched my outfit. This is how I looked everyday. I hated it and I hated my mother for making me look like this.

When I closed my eyes I could see myself with very long hair, but the hair looked strange to me. It looked like braids but it wasn't braided. I didn't know what locks were and had no idea that was the hairstyle I envisioned. I would also see myself with huge hair, wild and curly...unruly. I loved seeing myself like that. Then I'd open my eyes again to see what was still my reality and I retreated further into myself.

One day, I asked my mom if I could wear my hair braided. Absolutely not, she said. I asked, why? Mom turned to me as if to give a life lesson. She said, wearing your hair natural will only make you look ignorant. You must straighten your hair so people will think of you as intelligent. My heart sank and so did my head as I slowly walked back to my room to sit in front of my mirror and cry. I've never forgotten her words. 

It would not be until I was in my mid 30s that I would be able to stand up to my mother and tell her how I wanted to wear my hair. I guess you may be wondering why it took so long for me to do this. All I can say is if you have to ask then you don't know what it is to have controlling parents. You can't begin to fathom what it is to be under such tight control and scrutiny. Every independent decision outside of what my parents wanted was made with great trembling and sacrifice. My parents did not take disobedience kindly and any act of disobedience was met with intense cruelty and degradation...no matter my age.

Finally, I broke free from one of the chains that bound me. I cut off all the permed hair and I wore my hair braided for a few years. A week before my 40th birthday I felt a strong urge to begin twisting my hair. I always knew I was going to lock my hair one day, but wasn't sure when. The day had come and I gave into the call. I wore my hair locked for 9 years. I loved my hair. The first time I looked in the mirror and saw my locks in their full light I knew I had finally seen the vision of myself that I saw so many years ago. For once, I stood in front of my mirror and smiled.

During the ninth year of my locks a terrible thing happened. My eczema took a turn for the worse spreading over most of my body including my scalp. Having no insurance at the time, I fought with all I had to remedy my skin, paying cash for doctor appointments to get prescriptions for topical ointments. I also used tea tree oil and soap (natural anti-fungal), a probiotic and diphenhydramine to help with itching. There was little I could do to and save my hair. My skin is much better, but my hair was lost. Locks fell daily, one sometimes two at a time. There was nothing I could do to save them. Each fallen lock was mourned and put away.

It's been about a year since loosing the first lock. I stood in front of my mirror looking at  the few remaining locks and thought to myself...why are you hiding? I've spent the last year trying to hold on to something that cannot stay. All I could see was massive loss. My identity...my beauty...my independence...my strength and everything else my locks represented was gone. I've been stripped. There's no where else to hide.

About a month ago I cut off my remaining locks and placed them in a bag where all fallen locks are kept. I stood there squeezing the bag close to my chest, making peace with my decision. It is time for me to face myself. This time in my most natural state. My prayers were being answered, though I had not realized it yet.

I Am As I Am

One more look in the mirror.
There I stand.
Hair shorter than ever.

I began to cry,
Only this time it wasn't tears of sadness,
But tears of joy and relief.

I am free, I said.
No more hiding.
I no longer need my locks to be my identity.

Nor do I need my locks to be,
My strength, my beauty,
Or proclamation of indoctrination of my mind and spirit.

I am just as I am,
And ought to be.
For the first time I see me.

I am budding and soon will be in full bloom.
My inner light fills the room.
I lean forward taking a closer look.

I am just as I am,
As I ought to be.
And I'm loving everything I see.

For the first time,
With my own eyes,
I can see me.
 

I Have a Right to Feel Good - April 26, 2014

I had a very interesting conversation with my cousin today. We're both about the same age. We have our health issues, eating issues and abusive pasts, but we are not equal when it comes to the journey towards wellness.


I was looking at myself in the mirror while talking to my cousin and glanced up to read the words that I taped there several weeks ago...you remember the words...'When I say I love you, I mean that I'm committed to working to love you even when it's hard'. I'm still committed to working to love myself. It has been hard. There are days when I don't even like myself. On those days when it's hard to love myself or even like myself, I accept what I am feeling at the time because it is only temporary and I know it will get better. My dislike for myself is a product of my past...the vision of myself through my parents eyes. It's time I see myself through my own eyes. I did not come into existence disliking myself. I came into life filled with love, a love that was soon taken from me by the hands of those who were supposed to love and protect me.


Back to the conversation with my cousin. As she talked I began thinking about the words I just read and what they mean to me. It hit me, I've really come a long way in a very short period of time. It's amazing how one can change negative thought patters into something more positive. Feeling good about the healing that has taken place and looking forward to receiving more healing, I blurted out, 'I feel good today!' Before I could help myself I also blurted, while smiling really big, 'And I feel kind of cute too!' Before I could inhale, my cousin began her negative stent. She went on and on about how she was not cute and how she wished she could feel cute and so on... I'm telling you...when an epiphany moment comes, it comes real hard. I was constantly surrounded by negativity on all sides, my parents, my cousin who witnessed much of my abuse, extended family, friends and my broken heart. It's no wonder that I fell out of love with myself. It's no wonder that I felt guilty for thinking anything positive about myself.


"I've had enough of hearing your stinking thinking!" That's what I said to her. I actually stood up for myself. I told her that I had the right to feel good about myself without being dragged into her pity party. It's not fair. She's never celebrated any of the few times that I've felt good about myself. As a matter of fact of those rare occasion I can only remember seeing her tears as if I were not allowed to be pretty...sound familiar? My dad did not allow people to tell me I was pretty. Interesting...Wow! That was a first for me. As I said...I've come a long way in a very short period of time. I never thought that I would feel the way I feel today. I REFUSED to feel guilty for feeling good about myself and I said it out loud for the first time in my life.


It  never dawned on me that there were others who contributed to my state beyond my parents. It wasn't just the negativity of my situation. Negativity was the common thread between me and all who were closest to me. We fed off of each other.


Next time you look into a mirror or maybe before you look into a mirror try to remember what your state of mind was like before the damage settled in...if you can. Remember, were not born to hate ourselves or anyone...hate, dysfunction, discord, misery, all of that is learned behavior and borrowed emotions. Give that crap back!! Press reset and start a new. 

Painful Image

I've been trying to write this post for two days. The subjects of body image and self-image are touchy subjects for me. I'm not one who likes to think of my image. I'd much rather hide in the shadows or blend in with the background.

That being said, I'm still not sure where to begin nor do I know where it will end. I must have started and deleted this post two or three times and I'm still struggling. I sure do use the word struggle a lot. Crap! This is complicated. Anyway, here it goes...


How does one begin to describe themselves? Which vantage point is better? As they say, there are two sides to a coin. Both sides are different, yet work in unison to create one complete coin. So, what happens when both sides are so different that they don't make a concise unit? In other words, what happens when one's body image does not match one's self-image? 


What's the difference between body image and self-image anyway?


BODY IMAGE


A subjective picture of one's own physical appearance established both by self-observation and by noting the reactions of others.


SELF IMAGE


dʒ/ The idea, conception, or mental image one has of oneself.

---

In my personal opinion, I believe we all come into existence with a clear idea of who we are and what we are meant to look like. A prime example of this is a person who feels they were born the wrong sex. They recognize this at a very early age. Clearly they have an understanding of who they are, but when they look in the mirror they don't see themselves. Instead they see someone else. They know what they see is real, but it's not right. 

My situation is different, but similar. It is not a question of identity by sex. I was born a female and know that I am supposed to be female, however, there is and always has been an image in my mind as to who I am and what I should look like. I have yet to see that image in the mirror. Therefore, I've never felt that I was fully myself. I'm more of a creation, pieced together by circumstance which making me a bit of a Frankenstein. I can't help but think of a small excerpt from one of my poems. It all makes sense now.

Look at it!

Hideous, monstrous…grotesque,


 A real life Frankenstein.

People will run and scream.

This is how I feel and at times that was my experience.

The image of me that lives in my mind is beautiful. I'm tall and voluptuous with long locks and flawless skin. I have a peaceful expression and a wealth of love that radiates from me. When I look into a mirror...I see a body ravaged by pain, patchy skin color, dim eyes, massive girth serving as a wall to keep people away, but also doubling as an ill fitted band aid. A poor attempt to cover my wounds. I see a void, a huge nothing. I feel nothing for myself. 


It is the effects of abuse that molds me and makes my image askew.


I grow angry when I think of what I perceive as should have been, as opposed to what is. I grow even angrier when I think of all that I could have been or at least have tried, but didn't because I had no support nor did I have anything left after warding off my parent's evil. Life is but a mist. I don't know how long life will be for me. I want to make the best of the time I have left. I grow weary thinking of how much time has passed and how much of that time has been wasted on survival. I haven't even begun to really live yet. I’m so very tired...


Enough with my image issues for now. I'm going to focus a little more energy on my letter to self. By the way, it's coming along well. I'm not in a place where I feel comfortable sharing the content of my letter, but I will keep you abreast of the progress and any epiphanies that come of it.


I will share this much with you today. While I was working on the letter yesterday, I began asking myself questions. I asked a particular question and answered it immediately. Only thing, it wasn't my 48 year old self that answered. It was me at the age of 4 year who spoke up. That was totally unexpected and shook me completely. I'd never heard the voice of my 4 year old self before. It wasn't an actual voice, but an internal voice. She wants to be heard...so I'm going to listen and write.


Dear God, please be with me, that I be able to withstand what I am about to endure. I've never had an experience like this before. I know that I've been trying to get inside myself and here I am. I am ready, but I am also afraid.

A Year of Courage - April 4, 2014

WARNING: This post may trigger sensitive readers.


As I anticipated the good to come in the new year, I was struck by an aggressive attack of Dermatitis, more commonly known as Eczema. It quickly covered about 70% of my body including my scalp. My hair started falling. Everyday more hair lost. I didn't lose it all. What I did lose was significant. I was beyond mortified and heartbroken. Everyday I'd stare into the mirror wondering if I'd lose more hair. Sometimes hair would fall to floor where I stood. I started thinking God or maybe some evil force was punishing me. For what? It didn't matter. I must have done something awfully wrong for this to happen out of the blue...right? That's what it felt like. Could I have been punished because I was beginning to see myself as pretty?


As a young child, even into adulthood I was not allowed to feel pretty or think I was pretty. People would often complement me. Dad discouraged the compliments. He'd say it would only go to my head, but he didn't mind if men thought I was pretty, as long as they were willing to pay.


I've had patches of eczema most of my life. The rash developed when I was a toddler. My mom used laundry detergent in my bath water. Tide laundry detergent to be exact. Don't ask... I don't know why regular soap was not sufficient for bathing, according to her. Perhaps she liked the rich, thick lather laundry detergent produced. There couldn't have been any thought to the almost certain harm laundry detergent could do to young skin...could there? She did apologize and gave me bar soap for bathing instead. My skin has never been the same.


I've always struggled to see something good about myself. Never pinpointing beauty per say, but I did have some interesting attributes. I had a nice smile, pretty eyes (if enough mascara was applied) and numerous cool hair styles. That's about it. Oh, and I was told that I had a nice walk. I let my nails grow and wore my clothes tight in an attempt to display curves as my college counterparts did. Weight issues were still prominent, but I carried my weigh well or so I was told. Customers at our store or even family members would say, "You're still heavy, but you carry it well," or "You’re such a pretty girl. If only you'd lose a little weight.  No matter how 'well' I carried my weight it was still not good enough for my parents. I was just under the bar of having an acceptable exterior. As a matter of fact, according to my parents, being heavy or fat was cause for my having to work harder to make friends. Hmm, and to think all this time I thought it was my general misunderstanding of social behaviors and oddball quirkiness. Oh well, nothing about me would ever be good enough for them.


Last year I felt pretty. I'd grown my hair for 8 years, it's getting pretty long and healthier than ever. My skin was clearing nicely and my face glowed. I'd already started losing weight a few years ago and felt that I was on a clear path for success. There are a couple health concerns, but nothing unmanageable. Still not willing to date, but starting to appreciate the occasional stare accompanied by a smile. It was at this point everything changed.


My hair is growing back. I've made peace with the loss. I fear seeing myself as pretty again. It's gonna take time to get over this last episode before I can do that. My skin is starting to clear a little, even though I’m having trouble keeping up my regimen. Don't worry, I'm working on it.


I am thankful that I've gained the courage to look in a mirror and deal with what I see. I have gained the courage to face some of my fears. I have gained the courage to have more than hope for my future, but to actively do something about it. I have gained the courage to be completely honest with myself even when it hurts. And I’ve gained the courage to tell my story no matter how it sounds.


Courage


The ability to fight one's own instinct to run or cower by focusing on a larger deed that must be done for the greater good. - Urban Dictionary


Today I had breakfast at 10:37am. I ate two packs of cheese crackers. For lunch at 2:30 I ate 2 scrambled eggs with toast and water. For dinner I made a skillet dish with ground turkey, pasta and tomato sauce. I did not have a late night snack last night nor did I have a snack this afternoon.


My eating schedule is as follows:


Breakfast between 10am-11am


Lunch between 2pm-3pm


Dinner between 6:30pm-7:30pm


Many thanks to my lovelies for calling in reminders to eat.