My boys are home for Christmas. My eldest, Nelson, immediately goes to get the photo albums. He does this every year. He transports himself back to childhood…
always saying he had the best one ever.
I look at pictures of me at 29 and 30, 38, 42 and cannot believe what I see. I don’t remember much from those days due to a brain injury. Most of my memories are collages of pieces that don’t match up. They are mismatched and seeing pictures actually becomes challenging.
I do remember beating myself up for my weight. I had a horrible eating disorder. I didn’t know it then. I felt I was never enough for my mate. He had an ability to manipulate me into believing that I wasn’t enough. It’s a control mechanism. I did not know myself. I allowed it. I recognize it now. However, from my early 20’s to the age of 41 I believed the lies. I gave my power to others who placed a price tag on me.
This morning I found a picture of the day after I turned 30. I’m holding my baby girl that arrived the day of my bday from Romania. She was my first adoption. My boys were 9 and 7 at the time.
I thought I was overweight. I was very sick. A month after her arrival I caught a virus she brought with her and I spent over a week in the hospital in quarantine. Doctors couldn’t decipher what I had and until the disease control folks gave them thumbs up I wasn’t allowed to leave the hospital. My mother was told I was on the edge of death. I cannot remember much from those weeks.
I wasn’t always on this conscious-awareness and spiritual route. I was a hot mess of anxiety and self mutilation. I punished myself over and over until there was nothing else to grab on to. And I did it alone in the nights or in my own prison of thoughts. In theory I knew what “letting go” meant. The practice part was not attainable. To the outside world I had my shit together. But, in alone times I was depressed and suicidal.
Three years later it took a massive blow on the back of my head to adjust my perception and recognize things had to change. And another decade to truly put it all into practice.
You will never be this young or this age again. Twenty years from now I will look at pics of me now and think, “What was I thinking? I was so young and lovely!”
Perspective is a gift of choice. Gift yourself the awareness that this body is just a means of transportation. Yes, be healthy. Yes, take care of It. But, not for one minute beat yourself up because it’s a downward journey to internal
Hell. You got this. You are beautiful. And I love you.
5 thoughts on “Stop Beating Yourself Up”
Once again, you’ve made me cry. Sad tears for what you endured and happy tears for your recovery and kind words. I love your stories. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to you and yours.
I love you. Merry Christmas.
Wonderful tale Millie….We sure can be our own worst enemy. How well I know. Keep going in the enlightened direction you are headed in. Peaceful tidings to you all and much love…VK ❤
Wishing you and yours a magical season. Thank you and mucho love.
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