Recently, I wrote an email to a good friend and touched on the fact that I used to be really self-loathing. As in, I honestly used to believe I was worthless.
Maybe it’s because I’ve overcome a lot of obstacles to become the ballsy, confident, even arrogant woman of today, but when I look back, I can’t see a clear reason for those negative thoughts. Or, more accurately, I won’t allow myself to take the time and energy necessary to dissect those thoughts and come up with a conclusion. I refuse to.
All I know is, it had something to do with my upbringing. I can’t put it into words, but it’s the same reason I didn’t apply to Ivy League schools straight out of high school; I never thought that I could ever achieve that level. [Even though, unbeknownst to me, I had the right mixture of high grades/SAT score + extracurriculars + minority status to land me at any school I wanted.] Other people, yeah. But me? No. Never. My parents hadn’t instilled in me the attitude that I could accomplish anything I set my mind to. What they’d instilled in me was a healthy fear of success, and the idea that somehow, by achieving a certain level of success, I was somehow being not myself.
So I never reached for the things I wanted…
Now, years later, I’ve crawled out of my hole and climbed over a bunch of obstacles. I realize my shortcomings, sure. But more than ever, I’m able to acknowledge my general goodness and kick-assness.
Have I made a lot of mistakes? Definitely. Do I have a long way to go before I’m where I want to be? Damn right! But am I putting one foot in front of the other, doing the best I can, working hard, taking care of me and mine, and being a good person? You better believe it!
I’m at a point where all I have to hold on to is that knowledge. I don’t have any evidence that I’m working my magic, doing what I have to do, succeeding every day at little things that accumulate into larger-than-life-success. I don’t have anything tangible to point to. I don’t have anyone (besides Rob) telling me I’m doing a great job.
What I have are a lot of doubters. A lot of haters. A lot of worriers. A lot of people who say they have my back, but don’t really know how to give me what I need.
And I’m tired of explaining to people what I need. I’m tired of assuming that people will take care of me. I’m tired of believing that people have my best interests in mind, and then being let down.
I’m tired. So so so so so so tired.
The great change is happening.
I’m tapping it all down, wiping away my tears, and working harder than ever.
I’m canning all of my expectations for other people.
I’m closing myself off.
I’m doing what I have to do to take care of my kids and reach my dreams.
Nothing more, nothing less.