When I struggle with my identity, my inner criticism increases significantly. I touched a little bit last week on how that struggle affects my view of God. This week, I wanted to look deeper at how I speak to myself. Choosing to be kind isn’t easy. And if I’m being honest, it can feel impossible. I think that coming from an abusive situation makes it harder, but I know that negative self-talk is something that all people experience at times.
For 4 years and 8 months, I lived with a man who was degrading and manipulated so much shame into my life. The phrase, “no one can make you feel inferior without your consent” is infuriating to me because that is an abuser’s main goal and not one victim has ever consented. It is always difficult to put my experience into words for a blog because of how systematic he was. Telling a short story or writing a few of his words can feel dismissive of how extensive the abuse was.
When I posted about “victim” becoming a piece of my identity, someone asked why I call myself a victim and not a survivor. I wish I felt that survivor was the truth. But the hurt that I still experience on a daily basis makes that feel like a false claim. The commentary that continues to resonate. The situations that get replayed. The new anxiety and fear. My inner critic was good at memorizing, and now, repeating. Just when I feel like the water has calmed, another rock is dropped and the ripples begin.
This year has felt like the hardest of my life. Sometimes I get mad at myself for saying that. It’s not allowed to be. I already did “the worst.” I’m supposed to be living in freedom and victory. I’m choosing healing and change. It’s not supposed to be this way. I can’t let him have control over me anymore. I’m disappointed in myself. I guess I’m not strong or brave. I left 3 years ago. Maybe nothing I ever do will make me better. I’m not capable of helping others. I can’t seem to do anything right. I am worthless. Why am I even here anymore?
And down and down I go.
I had a particularly bad few days this week. It has felt easy to point to my perceived flaws and shortcomings, especially because my experience in Miami has looked so different than any other in my life. I have nothing to relate it to. I’ve struggled to allow myself to say that current events are exacerbating my mental health. That feels too gracious. Even as I write this, my brain keeps saying, “No one cares. Your story is meaningless. Just give up.” Posting it feels like an act of defiance.
If you haven’t heard it before, healing is hard work. I have to remind myself of that constantly. Sometimes I’m excited to dig in, but in this season, I have had to force myself. Now that I’m typing this, it sounds a little crazy, but yesterday I did a thing that felt dreadful. It turned out pretty radical. I had placed a pillow on the floor and kneeled before Jesus to cry to Him. I told Him everything wrong with me. I told Him that He must be disappointed in me. I told Him that I wanted to come home to Him because I can’t seem to make a home here.
After about an hour of that (and numb legs), I stopped speaking. God told me to get a mirror and place it before my pillow. I kneeled again to lament. But this time, if I looked up, I had to face myself. The first few times I did, God was kind to me. I forced myself to repeat Him. Then He asked me to be kind to myself. Each time I lifted my head, I had to be compassionate. It was SO HARD.
I didn’t wake up this morning with new confidence. When God asked me to write about it, I told Him I couldn’t. I told Him that there is no hope in this story. The tears are still streaming. But here I am at the end of this post, and God has reminded me that I am capable of more than my feelings. I am capable of more than my thoughts. Standing in the mirror and telling myself that I will not give up on me gave me enough strength to write this.
And when I am done, I will go back to the mirror and say, “I am proud of you.”
On Wednesday, I am going to share more about being self-compassionate. I will share some of my favorite statements. Until then, I will continue to practice my own grace and kindness, and I will celebrate each time I do.
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