Self-Acceptance. My gift to me for mental health month
May is mental health month, and I wanted to share a bit about where I am today. Last year, I shared openly here about my mental health journey, and three ways I was managing it. This year, I want to share a poem I wrote recently, and one of the biggest shifts I have made over the past year that have brought me a great deal of peace of mind. This has been practicing self-acceptance.
Some days I am not a work in progress. Some days I am a rebel. A child throwing a tantrum. A runaway train.
Some days I'm antisocial. I'm unproductive. I'm lazy.
Some days I am NOT moving forward with grace, instead I am being dragged kicking and screaming. And some days I am sliding stealthily backwards into the comfort of my memories.
Some days I am NOT keeping the faith. Instead - I throw it out the window of my moving car. Some days I am NOT fighting the fear. Instead I am taking it out to dinner, and then for cocktails, and then back to bed and letting it whisper sweet nothings in my ear.
Some days I am not the best version of myself. I am green with envy, crimson with rage, blinded by lust. I am chocolate and vodka.
And on those days, I am every bit as powerful as I am on others, and I do NOT use my powers for good. I am Lex Luthor. The Sheriff of Nottingham. Cruella Deville. Captain Hook.
I am not my best self every day. Some days I am my bad self, and sometimes, those are the best days of all.
I wrote this some time ago after a conversation I had with a friend about self-forgiveness. It came out of the fact that over the years, I have found it harder to make certain decisions, instead feeling overwhelmed with the choices, and “doing research”.
I was worried about making “the right choice”. And how did I know what “right” was? Well this could be based on an idea I had as a teenager - that I should be “a proper adult”. My standards for this were pretty high, and I was growing weary trying to reach them. Or it could be based on the ideas of others, of personal development books I was reading, and podcasts I was listening to. I was my own harshest critic, holding myself up to impossibly high standards.
And even though starting this blog, and considering the benefits that came from the mistakes helped a bit, the weight of unwanted and unexpected consequences made me agonize over many of my decisions daily.
My friend was kind enough to remind me of something that I have known to be true for a while - things almost never go according to plan - even when the plans and decisions are good. She also reminded me that no matter how well I research, there will be information that I don’t have. She reminded me that I am constantly changing as a person and it is reasonable that the person I am now will question decisions that the person I was 5 or 10 years ago made - as I was a different person then. And she asked me to consider forgiving myself.
In truth, I was resistant to the idea when she mentioned it, but I couldn’t quite understand why. But over the course of the next few weeks, the idea kept putting itself firmly in front of me, until the day that I wrote the poem above, and I began to understand why I have such resistance to the idea of self-forgiveness. The reality is that I associate forgiveness with doing something wrong.
And in my mind the concept of self-forgiveness is tied to the idea that there is something wrong with me, and it is that “wrong” part of me that I have to forgive. That part of me that should have known better. That didn’t get all of the information. Or that simply went along with the easy way rather than the right way. That took the afternoon nap instead of working on my business. Or that stayed out late watching a movie or reading Harry Potter when I should have gone to bed on time. That ate the extra piece of cake.
And when faced with the idea of forgiving myself for these things, there was a part of me that rose up - and that refused to be forgiven, because that part of me wants to remind me that there is nothing “wrong” with me. Not because I am perfect, or because I will never make bad decisions, but because I am simply human, and some days - I will not be a work in progress.
I thought of all the years I felt ashamed of the person I was - through my interpretation of faith, of personal development, and of those twisted ideas that I had as a teenager about what “proper adults do” in life. I felt ashamed of my humanity, somehow believing that I was broken. I felt like there was a war going on inside of me. It drove me to feel like I needed to have ultimate control.
The idea of self-forgiveness felt like another task I needed to complete so that I could pardon the parts of me that weren’t perfect. And the shame was there to remind me that I was striving to eventually be that perfect person, even if it wasn’t possible.
I decided that I was tired of fighting myself.
And so on the day I wrote this poem, I decided to call a truce. I decided that - at least for the moment - there will be no pardon. Instead, I choose to accept all of me - including the side of me that is rebellious; that is not doing the right things; that is not perfect, but that is perfectly human. I choose to realize that some days she will be the one with the steering wheel, and on those days we probably won’t get to where we are supposed to be going (and if we do, it definitely won’t be on time!) And I choose to be ok with that - even if it feels like it sometimes gets in the way of my lofty goals.
I realize that I am way more comfortable with this idea of self-acceptance. Of accepting the part of me that refuses to grow up. That refuses to be good all the time. And that refuses to be forgiven. She has taken me on some of my wildest adventures, and these days, I could do with a few more of those. And so for now, she rides with me. I choose to accept it all. I choose to embrace those “some days” because sometimes - those really are the best days of all.
What does this have to do with my mental health? Well this year - everything. Spending the last few months in lockdown with very little work, I had some moments where I was feeling seriously down. It definitely could be a combination of career factors, and stress from a global event. But I was not making it any better for myself with those ridiculous expectations. As someone who is prone to suffering from depression, I remain mindful of how I feel, and as I mentioned in my previous post on this - I pay attention to my triggers.
And one of my triggers was me.
Beating myself up when I didn’t do “the right thing” or make “the right decision”. Self acceptance has been the biggest gift that I could give myself and my mental health - especially during this time of isolation.
And I am grateful for good friends, deep conversations, and the realization that I can accept all parts of me.
I would love your own thoughts on this. Are there parts of you that you have struggled to accept? Do you feel shame for not being the person you think you “should” be? And what are the so-called bad decisions you made which you have fond memories of?
And how would it feel to just accept it all?
Let me know in the comments!
And I send you big love from a small island.
PS and the photo taken in Switzerland was one I took on one of those “somedays” when a series of ill-advised decisions led me to one of my most fun trips ever!