This next step is a timely one for me as I’ve been needing to actively do it the last few days, which in turn has been a good reminder that it’s all very well me talking about how to do this stuff, but walking the talk is still a daily practice. Because i don’t think we ever really get to a point where we love & support ourselves, no questions asked, no more doubts, tra la la the world is a magical place filled with rainbows and unicorns.

Some days the world is a crappy place. Some days it just sucks to be breathing the same old air.

Despite the great news from the Impossible Project, this week i have been on a downer (still am, actually), the unfortunate combination of some end-of-project blues, hormones, bad weather and some unexpected criticism which i wholeheartedly take on the chin while also feeling it as a punch in the gut. There are some days when i wish i could ‘go to work’ and then come home, because right now work is my whole world – there is no separation between where i end and where work starts. It’s all the same thing. Which is not healthy, i know, but it is what it is. All of this is so important to me; my work IS me; it’s an emotional thing.

Anyways.

When the blues hit it’s even more imperative to be kind to myself, particularly when it’s so tempting to kick myself while i’m down. I mean, i’m already down there – why not heap some more doubt and insecurity and crap on my head? Some days i really do have to drag myself from breakfast to dinner to bed to just get through the day in one piece – who has the energy for that happy skippy claptrap i see on the internet? But when i can muster some kindness, i try to make an effort, however small, to do something nice for me… because it does help, even when i am at my most resistant.

Over the years I’ve watched friends with kids keep treats and games in their bag so when they’re away from home there’s always something to keep the children occupied and comforted; as adults we need the equivalent of this. Our own bag of comfort. In mine I have: books that lift me up, new songs to be found on iTunes, sofa + blanket + DVD, a hot bath, a Chinese take-away delivered to my front door (did this last night and it did help), my journal where i can rant or sob or attempt gratitude lists. I also have friends and a sister I can email or call and talk it through with, but when they are not around, i only have me to turn to, and if i’m finding it hard to sit through the fear/discomfort/pain/upset i let myself switch off with a film and a gigantic cup of tea. I let myself be distracted. Because as much as i want to always be brave and feel any shittyness i am feeling, sometimes it’s okay to just push it to one side and let it run out of steam on its own.

Sometimes being your own best friend, aka falling in love with yourself, is knowing when it’s okay to just let yourself off the hook, being kind and gentle, especially when you feel broken. And an early night helps too, because nine times out of ten things look a bit better in the morning.

How to fall in love with you: step one :: step two :: step four

To fall in love with ourselves we have to get to know ourselves first. I remember reading a quote somewhere that said a great marriage was one where the conversation never ended. This is what we want with ourselves: the conversation. The getting to-know-you part of the courtship. The intrigue, and then the honesty. One of my greatest healing tools has been my diary. Begun in 1984 when I was 11-years-old, I’ve unravelled the stories of my life into a collection of exercise books, lever-arch files and now beautiful Moleskine notebooks. But what I‘ve discovered over the years is that the act of keeping a diary isn’t enough to make you fall in love with you; there are many years of diary entries that I now consider superficial and surface, ramblings about my relationships or my neuroses about work or friends or some other thing that was occupying my outer world. And the key word here is occupying – I always managed to keep myself distracted by stuff other than me. Writing it all out in a stream of consciousness made room for deeper enquiry, but I just never went there out of fear, leaving me skimming along the surface for years, always at the mercy of the whims of others.

One of the gifts (and I feel comfortable using that word now) of my bereavement was the opportunity it gave me to dive below that surface while supported by my therapist. As I began to do the hard work of healing, I turned to my diary every day as a way to record the process and vent the hurts that were surfacing, in turn nurturing a richer and more honest relationship with the page. Not that I ever lied to myself – I just avoided looking at the Stuff. You know the Stuff? The issues I covered up with a bottle of wine; the feelings I swallowed down with a bar of chocolate; the worries I placated with a menthol cigarette. I read my diary back and marvel at how something that was supposed to be all about me was all about everyone else, and what they were doing and feeling. And how that was affecting me. External, external, external.

I sometimes wonder what would have become of me had I not endured such a devastating bereavement, but that thinking never gets me very far. This has been my experience, and the key to uncovering all I needed to heal. This can be translated and applied by starting an honest conversation with yourself. When we push ourselves to be honest, and not hide behind the distractions or fear, we can begin to see ourselves as we truly are and find a place of loving kindness to carry ourselves. So start with some quiet time alone – no phone, no internet, no television, no other people, just you and a notebook & pen – and make some conversation. Start with some small talk, then take it up a notch. These have been helping me lately:

1. There’s a life coach-y technique you can use, to get to the bottom of your feelings about a particular situation or person or memory. Ask yourself: ‘how do I feel about this?’ and write an answer. Then ask yourself again: ‘but how do I feel about this?’ And write another answer. Then do it again: ‘but how do I feel about this?’ and continue on in this way until you have asked and answered as far as you feel you can go. Often if I feel myself getting stuck when I’m writing an article, a blog post or a longer piece of prose, I start a new line with the words ‘But what I really want to say is…’ and then let rip. Either technique helps me cut through the surface clutter and into the real issue underneath.

2. Pull back from using your diary as a chronicle of the day’s events. Instead, chronicle your feelings from the day.

3. Keep checking in with your needs. When premenstrosity strikes, I have a tendency to see everything through an overly-emotional veil, but underneath all that melodrama are very real, very tender emotions. By regularly checking in with how I’m feeling (see no.1) and what I need (more time alone, more fresh air, a call with a friend, an afternoon to play), I (usually) manage to write my way through the crazies and find some (self) support.

4. For some of us it is hard to be doing something so seemingly ‘selfish’ as keeping a diary – do it anyway. Let it rip. Indulge yourself. Be honest. No one else is reading.

These are just a few little ideas to get you started if you yearn for more connection with the gorgeous fabulous being that is YOU. A diary/journal is simply a tool to get us talking to ourselves – it can be lined or unlined, either works ;)

How to fall in love with you: step one :: step three :: step four

Continuing on from Wednesday’s post, one of the most powerful ways i found to connect with the me I’d been shunning was to take myself out on dates. Having been in relationships all my adult life, i wasn’t used to doing certain things on my own, and the day i took myself to the cinema, all on my own, was a day to remember. I’d always thought that people who went to the cinema alone were a bit tragic, a bit Billy-no-mates. I know, I know, what a hideous thing to think, but it was coming straight from my own fears of being alone and loveless/friendless. But if we fast forward to now, going to watch a film on my own is one of my favourite treats: I buy something hot and calorific from Starbucks, see whatever film i want and sit wherever I want (without someone fidgeting beside me or kicking the back of my seat). I sink into the womb-like darkness of the auditorium and lose myself for a couple of hours on a rainy afternoon. Total bliss.

Once I discovered the joy of a lone cinema visit, I started getting bolder: i tried a lunch on my own. And i don’t mean a humble sandwich quickly eaten on a park bench. I’m talking about ordering a delicious lunch from a menu somewhere nice. I’m talking waiter service and a bill at the end. There is something extraordinarily empowering about taking yourself for lunch. The first few times i felt a bit awkward and ate quickly and left fast, but these days i sit and savour my space. I might bring a book or notebook, and sometimes i’ll be working at my laptop, but I also like not having anything to hide behind – just me, my plate of food, a room full of people to watch, my thoughts to think and some space to breathe. To be me… in public. I especially like having lunch on my own while abroad – San Francisco and Montreal provided a few memorable opportunities for me to sit quietly and watch the world go by; i even refused the offer of a newspaper to read. I’ll sometimes get a few quizzical stares from patrons, but generally people are too wrapped up in their own lunch to notice me sitting there. I always share a secret smile with other women I see eating on their own – maybe they’re like me and dig the lone dining mission, or they’re taking a break from work, or are mums who’ve escaped their kids for an hour or two. I like being a member of the lone diners club and i can’t wait to take myself out on a gastronomic tour of London when i return in the summer.

Now for some of you i imagine this might all sound rather obvious and if you’ve been self-dating for years keep doing it! But if you fear, like I did, that doing this stuff alone is sad or, more likely, exposing and makes you feel vulnerable then i invite you to give it a go the next chance you get. Start with an afternoon’s cinema date, and then work your way up to a lunch date. Take a book, find a cosy spot in the corner of the restaurant and see what happens… if nothing else, the feeling of accomplishment will keep you buzzing all the way home!

They say we must eat sensibly, exercise regularly and take time out to de-stress – I’d like to add ‘fall in love with ourselves’ to that list. To be able to cultivate our self-esteem and sense of worth we need to get to know ourselves – the soft tender places and the bold and powerful places. The hurts and fears, the joys and successes. We are worth this nurturing time – we deserve it! It keeps our heads and our hearts healthy and makes us better daughters*, sisters, mothers, partners, friends, employees, entrepreneurs, dreamers.

Can i get an OH YEAH!

* and sons – hello to my handful of male readers**!
** in particular Robby, a 14-year-old book-loving rockstar who just left a comment. I am so impressed with your blog! I hope my nephew follows in your footsteps :)

How to fall in love with you: step two :: step three :: step four

 

 

For a very very long time, i did not think i was worth much. My self-esteem was non-existent resulting in life choices that weren’t the best. I didn’t particularly like myself, so loving myself wasn’t even on the radar, and because i couldn’t find the love inside i depended on it from outside, from others. And, as we all know, that is the way to almost guaranteed disappointment. I lived with that girl/woman for 32 years and at no point during those years was i her best friend – I was her enemy. i tripped her up at every turn, i berated her in front of others, i apologised for her when she had done nothing wrong, i fed her cigarettes and alcohol rather than listen to what her heart was saying.

And then something horrific happened, and my world fell apart. And here’s the thing – the life i lost, the one i had stitched around me in the shape i thought i should inhabit, fell away so easily because it was built on nothing. The love was real, my god yes it was, but all the layers of self i had constructed over the years weren’t coming from the real me… because i had never given the real me a chance to breathe. I hadn’t danced with her, i hadn’t asked her what she liked. The real me did not have a voice; the real me was so hidden i didn’t think she existed.

So my years of grieving were made all the more painful – and ultimately all the more healing – because, finally, i had nothing i could hide behind anymore. I had to face myself, for the first time ever. I had to learn who i was and make sense of where I was all at the same time, bone by bone, piece by piece. I wouldn’t wish that sort of heart-breaking solitude on anyone, and it is certainly not the only way to find your real self. But it’s what happened on my path, and now i am so grateful to have had the opportunity to dig inside my self and see if there was anything of any value. And as it turns out, i didn’t have to do anything more dramatic than sit with myself for a while and just be. Therapy helped the process, but so did walks on the beach and artist’s dates with my camera. So did writing in my journal and letting myself cry all night when the pain was more than i could bear. It was being present with myself, and not running away and hiding.

These days I am gentler with my self. I’m kinder to that girl with low self-esteem because I know that’s all she ever needed from me – kindness. I don’t walk around thinking I’m the cat’s whiskers – ha! Far from it! – but these days i try to be my own cheerleading squad of one (when premenstrosity allows, mind. Some days are easier than others.) Life is so bloody short and i can either beat myself up for whatever perceived screw up i have done, or i could make myself a mug of rooibos tea, pick up a book and do the things that comfort and support me. Because i’m trying really hard to do my best – some days it’s easier than others, and that’s okay. We are all doing our best. We are all worthy of love and support from ourselves, today and every day.

* This post is inspired by Brene Brown’s fabulous Week of Worthiness over on her blog, Ordinary Courage. Brene has given me a copy of her new DVD, The Hustle for Worthiness, to giveaway, so if you want a chance to get your mitts on it, please leave a comment telling us one really awesome thing about yourself, big or small (and i’ll draw the winner on Friday Saturday morning). I’ll start:

I know how to make people laugh :)