The Woman In The Shadows

When I was in elementary school, she told me I was fat. When I was in middle school, she told me I wasn’t smart. When I was in high school, she told me there was only one thing I was good at, and that was being onstage, pretending to be someone else.

She’s cruel.

She’s been with me so long; I didn’t acknowledge her until two years ago when I was filling in for a high school teacher. I had asked the students to write a letter to their younger selves. It turned out to be an enlightening lesson not only for the students but for me. When I read their letters, I discovered over half of the teens had written about body image. As I wrote notes back to them about self-acceptance and true beauty, you know, the kind on the inside, I felt like the world’s biggest hypocrite. Here I was telling them to be body positive when I couldn’t go three days without checking the scale, exercising, or wondering what it would take to be as skinny as the actresses on TV. That’s when the spotlight shone on the cruel woman in the shadows who had been criticizing me my entire life.

She was me.

There were days when she screamed so loud; I hid under the covers.

Finally, I’m recognizing her–forcing her out of the shadows.

Self-Compassion

Whenever I’m asked to describe myself, the first word that comes to mind is compassionate. It’s easy for me to feel another’s pain. It’s easy for me to spot suffering or to understand another’s point of view. I’ve always felt a desire to make the world a better place. Yet, I’ve had little compassion for myself. This has led to a great deal of unrest because no matter what I do, it’s never enough.

When the teens wrote about how awful they felt because they judged themselves as fat, I had nothing but kind words for them. I realized that I needed to turn those same words on myself even if I had to picture and confront the cruel woman.

First, I had to recognize her. She’d been with me so long, calling out from the shadows she fooled me into thinking I had to take every word to heart. Not so. Now, when I walk by a mirror, and she whispers, you look older, you’ve gained weight, I have to recognize the damage she’s doing, then acknowledge her and show compassion. It could be something as simple as I see you, that was mean, be kind. You’re beautiful. It’s exactly what I’d say to a friend.

If she brings up a past mistake, I can acknowledge her and then let her know that I was in a different place then; I’m grateful I know better now. Life taught me a lesson. Like a voicemail that must be deleted instead of replayed, she must let it go. It’s over.

If she tells me I haven’t accomplished enough, I can tell her that my value doesn’t reside in a career or how many things I’ve gotten done in a day. What good is it if I’ve checked off everything on my to-do list but missed the amazing sunset or missed an evening chatting with my children or friends? I’d tell her my true value resides in how many moments throughout the day I see the beauty around me and feel the peaceful contentment that brings joy.

When I ask myself the question, what stops me from being happy, the answer is the cruel woman in the shadows who has something to say every day. When I think of what my life could be if she were kind, I breathe, and I smile.

Now that I know better, I’ll be better.

Kind words make all the difference.

Photo by Denys Argyriou on Unsplash