Forgiveness. Not the word one associates with religions. A way of life. I’ve run across many blogs, memes, thoughts, and people which point (in some way) to forgiveness. Marie Brennan (an author I’ve been reading) said this in one of her chapters; “If we cannot ask or receive forgiveness, how can any society survive?” A blog I read suggested hard things around me are things to find thanks in (I do this often elsewhere. It is fun to find little things shining in a big way! This reading today, though, made me think of things a little differently. A view that terrifies me.).
I seem to be constantly wandering through a maze of confusion, low self-esteem, frustration, and more. I’m not depressed as often, I used to imagine I was looking through plastic covered windows at the world around me and I’d be so exhausted I’d fall to sleep in a second. (I still sleep, but now I am often actually tired!) In spite of my gentler outlook, it is obvious I’m not entirely at peace (Happy is a relative term—see movie ‘The Pursuit of Happy-ness’). If I was at peace, I’d be well, less of the negative things and more of the positive ones!
Rhapsody Boheme posted a while ago about forgiveness of self. Her thought has been simmering gently along with others I’ve read from my favorite people. Forgiving myself not for the things I’m not (not good enough, not pretty enough, not kind enough, not smart enough, not…well, those things!), forgiving myself for thinking those things about myself. It will be hard. My thoughts were trained into me at a very young age. It is worse for my sister who is told over and over how Kris should have been an only child and how Mum died the first time when Jake was born. (She takes things harder than I do, though)
Believing in myself was never really anything I did. I knew there were things I could do and did them. It was the way it was. Being mediocre was natural, a comfortable normal mode I was tipped into early on. I’ve never been one for thinking I was unique (oh, in the 80’s it was a catch phrase we wore on buttons and shirts—U neeked up on people!) or inherently special. Sure, everyone is different and wonderful in their way. However, some people are blessed with a different kind of brain, looks, body and they shine brighter. (If you are onstage, you rock. Backstage is rarely noticed—there was that one time when the fancy painted picture fell during a scene and left a rope and duct tape dangling over the wall in the up and coming doctor’s home….) The others are important to the world, but if everyone was a superhero there’d be no one to clean up the streets after.
I’ve never wanted to be the superhero, I’ve wanted to be accepted for myself. Mum always tried to shove me into her shoes (they’ve always been too big). The Craftsman says he wants me to be happy and suggests I should be careful of my clothing (no tank tops without shirts over them or short shorts or leggings or super short skirts…so, it appears he does notice if I wear something ‘inappropriate’!) and what I read/write. I often feel inhibited by those around me and not good enough.
Those thoughts are changing, slowly. I mentioned it was going to be hard, but like an introduction of a clean freshet into a sluggish stream, I’ve been realizing I might just be ok. (At least today!)
This has been a really long week. Many good things have happened, a lot of mind numbing break down and bawl things have occurred. I cannot believe tomorrow is only Wednesday! Among those good things was a gift from someone who is mostly a stranger. Someone who thought of me when she saw something and bought it. For me. I’m still in a bit of awe. I went back in my thoughts and realized how often this has happened in the last years. It has humbled me and made me grateful.
If so many people like me, I should learn to see what they see instead of what I imagine. I know we can be our own worst critics, humans do that. In fact, I was called (for real!) today to pick up a book at the library. Unfortunately, while there, it turned out mum’s checkbook/wallet had been dropped in a parking lot in a different town. Mum was a bit annoyed with me, I was the last one who had it. So, after driving back to the previous town and returning to the library (Mum wanted to update her card and needed her ID), I opted to not get the book because I was angry and felt stupid and not good enough. Irony. It is called, “The Gifts of Imperfections: Let go of who you think and embrace who you are.” by Brene Brown.
I’ll get it tomorrow.