It has been a long and difficult road to loving myself. Truthfully, it is a work in progress. I beat myself over mistakes repeatedly. I have a difficult time forgiving myself. If people knew how hard of a time I gave myself, they probably would rarely criticize me and would probably tell me to give myself a break.
I am learning though. It is a slow process to self love and respect, especially if you were not respected or given autonomy as a child. I have finally realized though that if I don't love me, how can I expect anyone else to? Ultimately, it isn't about allowing others to love me or being loved by anyone else. It's about me being comfortable with who I am. I don't need anyone's love or approval. I approve of myself. I love and respect myself.
I still lie awake at night running mistakes through in my mind, over and over. I cut myself little slack and forget my mistakes even less. Yet, slowly, I realize I am smart, funny, pretty (not that external things matter), I have a lot to offer. Do I always like what I see in the mirror, externally or internally? No, of course not. This self-love has not magically transformed me. I have flaws, things I don't like and may never correct.
I am a work in progress though. I am miles ahead of anyone who isn't trying at all. It isn't a competition though, this is about ME, not anyone else. I am happier with myself today than I have ever been in my life. I accept my flaws while loving myself, they are not mutually exclusive. I don't have to be perfect to deserve love. I am amazing and if you don't like me, that's just too bad for you.
Thursday, November 12, 2015
Wednesday, January 14, 2015
Anna Quindlin
I am actively upset with author, Anna Quindlin. I feel duped into reading Every Last One. I digress, I have been on a mission to read award winning, enriching books over the last couple of years. In this quest, I had an unpleasant experience recently. I had wanted to read Jessamyn Ward's Salvage the Bones and was able to pick it up at the library. Unfortunately, I read the jacket cover and *spoilers*, it revealed way too much about the book. Way. It revealed the main character was pregnant and her brother's dog would have a litter of puppies that would die one by one. I did not want to know these things. I wanted to discover them in the natural way, as a reader, as the author intended.
Now, I am cautious about reading jackets and back covers. I don't want to know too much. Reading the back of the book has stopped me from reading some books all together. I almost read Wally Lamb's The Hour I First Believed, but after reading the back cover, I carefully returned the book to it's shelf. From the back cover, I discovered it involved the shooting incident at Columbine. Nope, can't do it.
I project. I have teenage children. I can't bear to think about school shootings. I can barely stand to write about it briefly. I imagine, as I'm reading, how I would feel, how those parents felt and I just can't stand to think about it. I've actually had my kids be in a lock-down situation and it's terrible. My son texted me, "Mom, we're in lock-down and have been for about an hour, do you know what's going on?" Lord, I've rarely felt that sick to my stomach in my life. It ended up not being a big deal but that's not the point. The point is I project, I imagine the worst and I already worry so I don't want to read things that fuel my already unhealthy level of parental concern.
Fast Forward to respected author, Anna Quindlin. I recently picked up Every Last One. It seemed fairly innocuous, at first. I didn't know much about the book, having not read the back cover. Approximately fifty percent of the way through the book, one of her twin sons, daughter and husband are all murdered. This is awful, truly awful. This is not a subject matter I am enjoying and I feel I have been conned by Anna Quindlin and her reputation as an author to read a book I am now thoroughly committed to but distinctly unhappy about. I am not saying I only read happy, feel-good types of books, I don't. I just read Donna Tartt's Goldfinch. It has some very unhappy moments. Children dying is just too much. I will finish the book, in the hopes it has some sort of redeeming message for me at the end. If not, I shall be deeply resentful.
Now, I am cautious about reading jackets and back covers. I don't want to know too much. Reading the back of the book has stopped me from reading some books all together. I almost read Wally Lamb's The Hour I First Believed, but after reading the back cover, I carefully returned the book to it's shelf. From the back cover, I discovered it involved the shooting incident at Columbine. Nope, can't do it.
I project. I have teenage children. I can't bear to think about school shootings. I can barely stand to write about it briefly. I imagine, as I'm reading, how I would feel, how those parents felt and I just can't stand to think about it. I've actually had my kids be in a lock-down situation and it's terrible. My son texted me, "Mom, we're in lock-down and have been for about an hour, do you know what's going on?" Lord, I've rarely felt that sick to my stomach in my life. It ended up not being a big deal but that's not the point. The point is I project, I imagine the worst and I already worry so I don't want to read things that fuel my already unhealthy level of parental concern.
Fast Forward to respected author, Anna Quindlin. I recently picked up Every Last One. It seemed fairly innocuous, at first. I didn't know much about the book, having not read the back cover. Approximately fifty percent of the way through the book, one of her twin sons, daughter and husband are all murdered. This is awful, truly awful. This is not a subject matter I am enjoying and I feel I have been conned by Anna Quindlin and her reputation as an author to read a book I am now thoroughly committed to but distinctly unhappy about. I am not saying I only read happy, feel-good types of books, I don't. I just read Donna Tartt's Goldfinch. It has some very unhappy moments. Children dying is just too much. I will finish the book, in the hopes it has some sort of redeeming message for me at the end. If not, I shall be deeply resentful.
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