Do you know what I did with that broken girl back in 2013? The one who had been attempting to destroy every single defect of character for as long as she could remember, the one who was already in advanced talks with a God she didn't believe in to "just take it away," the one who had no idea of self beyond what was wrapped into the life she thought presented well, men who abused her, friends she didn't like and a career that ate her? The one who couldn't look at herself in a mirror?
I started to love her.
I began telling her she was okay and that she was loved and that nothing was wrong with her. I told her she wasn't fucked up beyond repair. I let her know we had lost our way a little bit, that we'd shut some doors along the way, and that I was going to stand next to her while we went around the house and reclaimed those disowned parts ("Especially the ugly ones," I told her).
I didn't tell her that she was wrong to put herself first. I didn't tell her that she was selfish or warn her that her "self-will had run riot." I didn't tell her not to trust herself, or that she was wrong, or that she was deluded. I didn't tell her those things because if I had, I would have just been doing what I'd been doing to her the last 30 years. I told her to save her life at all costs, to put on her own oxygen mask and to put it on first. And when other people told her she was wrong, she couldn't trust herself, she was selfish and deluded - I told her to fuck them.
I took her to yoga and meditation and massage and therapy. I danced her little body around her living room and I wrote her a million affirmations that I taped around her apartment. "You are beautiful." "You are perfect as you are." "Nothing is wrong with you." "You have nothing to fear." "You are loved." I took her to beautiful places, on walks in the park, on runs along the water. I held her when she threw temper tantrums and I reinforced her when she said no. I inflated her when she needed inflating, I lifted her up when she needed lifting up. I was patient.
I didn't tell her to do MORE of the flaying of self. I didn't tell her to surgically remove her parts, ask God to take away even more of her, pray that she was someone different, or urge her to get smaller. I didn't humiliate her any more than she had already been, I didn't terrify her into thinking her ego had stolen the show, or that her growing self-importance, self-esteem, self-centeredness, self-regard, self-respect, selfishness, or pride was a sure sign she was on a bus to drinking hell.
I told her "Thank GOD we finally have those things." I told her "Thank God this earthly house we've chosen to live in finally feels like home instead of a war zone."Read More