Who Would You Be?

I was listening to one of the recent Tara Brach podcasts yesterday morning and she said something that made me stop sketching so I could write it down:

What if you didn’t believe anything was wrong with you? Who would you be?

My first thought was “I have no idea.” I couldn’t even fathom this possibility. It was so far out of the realm of my imagination that absolutely no answer lept to my mind.

Immediately after realizing this, I felt a deep sorrow. And then I got angry.

Here’s the thing: There was a time in my life, many years ago, when people were very mean to me. It wasn’t anything that was earth-shatteringly dramatic or even what could be defined as a tragedy. Compared to what many, many people endure, this was nothing. It was the typical cruelty of young children. Saying mean things, being insensitive to others’ feelings. But, maybe I needed acknowledgement and support more than others or maybe I didn’t feel a fundamental sense of belonging I craved. Either way, at this young age, I heard the message that there was something wrong with me quite regularly. I don’t even think it was intended maliciously. But it was said. It was implied. And at some point, it was even assumed.

I think being different isn’t encouraged or applauded, especially at that age where all we strive to do is fit in. And I simply did not.

But then years passed. I had friends who truly, deeply loved me. Friends who accepted me. I left a lot of the stories and people behind. I charted my own path and, on most accounts, succeeded in my hopes to make a life for myself where the kind of person I am flourished. I loved and was loved. I let people see me.

Despite all these things, I continued to hang on to the belief that there was something fundamentally wrong with me.

It was as if on the surface I’d changed my life, surrounded myself with these people who loved me, moved to a place where I felt a stronger sense of belonging, got a job at a place I felt comfortable, married someone whom I loved and who loved and accepted me for who I was. And yet, underneath it all, this voice inside still insisted that there was something wrong with me. Despite all the layers I built on top, the foundation was not solid. It was just cleverly hidden out sight.

What’s even worse is that I had made “there’s something wrong with me” a part of my self-identity. So I kept looking for excuses to self-perpetuate the idea. I continually listen for the bad. When people say kind things, I forget them almost instantly. And yet, when there’s a tiny criticism uttered, I cling on to it for dear life. “See?” that inner seed says, “I told you there’s something wrong with you.” It feels like a disease inside me that feeds on whatever it can get.

But here’s the truth: it’s not a disease.

It’s a choice.

I am almost forty. Maybe I didn’t get to decide how people treated me when I was six. Maybe they got to have a say on who I was then. (even then i had a choice, but let’s say i didn’t.) I am not six anymore. I am not helpless. Their voices are no longer louder or more important than mine. In this case, they do not even matter anymore. Not in the least. I never see these people and they are insignificant to my life.

And yet, I’ve spent 34 years of my life keeping their words alive. I’ve dedicated my life to proving them right. I’ve continually chosen their meanness over love and kindness and truth. The more I thought about it, the more I realized how much I’d done that. How I can still hear them when I get silent. And it makes me mad. (and sad, of course. disappointed. sad. hurt.)

So here’s what I decided after spending some time with the sorrow and the hurt and anger: I am done.

I don’t want to live this way any more. I have no idea who I would be without these thoughts. I have no idea what’s possible for me.

But I want to find out.

It may be a long journey but it’s a worthwhile one. And I know that 30+ years of self-identity will not disappear overnight. But I also know that this is a choice I make. And maybe bringing a lot of awareness to that fact will allow me to pause in that split second of choice and make a different one instead. This is what I want for myself. If I didn’t automatically think that there was something wrong with me, what else might be possible in this moment? Where else could I go with this comment. Can I be more open to receiving love, kindness and compliments if I opened to other possibilities?

I don’t know.

But I want to find out.