There’s this part of my mind right now that is calling me a hypocrite. It is saying that I am better at talking about life than I am at actually living it. It is running through a list of all the ways I don’t quite measure up, all the things I do poorly like eating crappy food, smoking, not exercising or meditating. It is being quite shaming.
There’s this other part of my mind right now that is trying to rally on my behalf. It is saying that I am doing the best I can right now and it is just fine. It is giving me credit for the changes I have made and am making, and it is encouraging me to continue trying. It is telling me not to buy into the old stories the other voice is trying to sell to me. It is saying, Enough.
The truth is, I don’t know which part of my mind is right. Maybe both. Maybe neither. I probably am a hypocrite in some ways, and maybe being a hypocrite isn’t as terrible a thing as I seem to imagine it is. I condemn myself for my own humanity. Even as I am fighting for my right to be a complete human being. I am so afraid of being these things that I so desperately don’t want to be viewed as being, even as I am all of them. Because I breathe. Because I have a heart and a mind and a spirit and a past and some wounding.
I want to judge myself less so I can be more of myself. It’s discomforting to be human and to be honest about it. For me it is, anyway. But I feel like I owe it to myself to try. I want to love all of me, not just the parts that fit into the column I long ago stuck a header on that reads, “Good.” Which for me, of course, is the same as “Loveable.” I am worth more than that. I am worth so much more than that.
And I can’t quite explain it right now, but I have this sense that I am suffering so much more than I have to, and limiting my life so much more than it needs to be, by ignoring, rejecting, or repressing the aspects of me I’m ashamed of. I want to try something else. I wonder what would happen if I welcomed them in.