And she said I have self-esteem issues. I need to be confident. And that I need to find a fact, and challenge those thoughts when they come into my head. And then just stop thinking.
Easier said than done, she admitted that.
My question for her on Monday will be "what do I do when I don't have a definite thought to challenge? Just a feeling?"
I know I don't HAVE to feel a certain way, but that doesn't change the fact that the feeling is there, in the center of my chest, heavy and hot and angry and jealous.
I wish there were a magic potion to rid oneself of jealousy and insecurity.
ANYWAY.
Time for more introspection.
Why do I always feel like I'm not good enough?
I have a theory, pieced together from my memories and what people have told me over the years.
Fact: I was almost always in trouble for one thing or another. I got spankings several times a week, and while I'm sure there were probably long stretches of time where everything was jolly and good, we all know the positive experiences don't stick around as much as the negative ones do.
If you ask my childhood friends, they will tell you: "She was always on punishment." I've actually had this conversation with the girl I grew up with. She mentioned it on her own, how I was always grounded for one thing or another, and I myself know how I would spend many days crying all day long because somehow I wasn't doing what was right.
The problem is, I don't know what I was doing wrong. I know my mother would often have me recite that "obedience is immediate," so I suppose me taking too long to do whatever she told me to do was wrong. I don't see why I had to get so many spankings, though. I know I wasn't a rude child. I didn't throw tantrums. I did ask a lot of questions; why do I have to do this, why do I have to do that? She'd tell me I was being contrary.
The odd thing is, when I remember really doing wrong things, like not coming home after school let out until like seven or eight pm, I don't think I was spanked for that. I was grounded instead. Which only led to me staying out late the next day too since I'd be stuck in the house once I did get there.
But I didn't use to like coming home. My parents were hardly ever happy with each other, and there was usually an uncomfortable vibe in the house with my father not talking to my mother for some reason, or almost every time they did have a conversation, within thirty seconds or less it would disintegrate and become an argument.
I remember one time they were yelling at each other so badly (and I had been somehow caught in the middle of it) that I ran out of the house and went to sit on the car in the driveway just to be away from it. I remember being surprised that they didn't follow me out or demand that I come back in. I guess they were too busy with their own problems.
A few years ago my aunt from Norway told me that part of the reason my mother's family kept to themselves was that they didn't agree with the way my mom was raising me. They thought she was too harsh on a little girl. Funny thing about that is, they saw me for a total of five months out of my life, when I was three and when I was six. How bad could it have been for them to make that judgment in such a short time period?
So I guess my point is this: if I was always on punishment, that must've led to me thinking I was always doing something wrong. If I was always doing something wrong, then I must have been intrinsically flawed. Add to that the constant pervading reminders that every time I disobeyed I was displeasing God...well crap. I think I had my spirit broken.
Whenever I wanted to stand up for myself, I was told not to. To turn the other cheek. I was actively deflected (can I say deflected here?) from doing that. Prevented would probably be a better word. If I disagreed with my parents, I was told that I was not allowed to tell them "no." I was always in trouble. The simplest of things that I wanted to do, I was told I couldn't; it was wrong. The music I wanted to listen to. The books I wanted to read. I began to hide things from my parents, because I didn't want to hear a long and detailed explanation of how my latest interest was somehow displeasing to God. I wasn't allowed to wear tight jeans or get my ears pierced. Or go out on the block and play jump rope with the girls next door.
Dang.
How could I possibly think I'm good enough?
And here is my question now: Why is it that people who meet me say I was raised well? Is it because I don't challenge them? Is it because I'm accommodating and let them get away with stuff?
Do I?
I don't know.
I'm polite and friendly. I genuinely give people a chance to talk and listen to their side of the story. I'm not rude. Maybe that's what they mean. I really don't know.
I'm tired of this journey. This being afraid and worried and always assuming that I've done something wrong the moment anyone behaves even slightly off from the norm. This trying to figure myself out and what I believe now vs. what I was taught back then. This uncertainty of whether or not I'm making the right decisions. This desperate fear of making the wrong ones. Because there will always be consequences. Or if there won't, at least not now, then the ultimate consequence will come after I'm dead and have gone to hell.
This dealing with missing my mom and being sad that she's gone vs. being happy that I'm free to make my own decisions and live my own life in a way that I wasn't before.
The guilt that comes with that.
It's exhausting.
But as long as I'm alive I have to keep going. One day I'll come out on the other side.
