Bill fills me in on a recent fight between Ky, our 10 year-old, and Carlito, Ky’s best friend. Ky told Bill… that Carlito told Ky… that I was ugly.
Bill stops for just a split second. But when I appear unfazed, he continues nonchalantly. Little does he know, an old sad story has scurried out from behind my eyes. And my mad attempt to squelch it, is about to backfire. On both of us.
While my rational adult-self assumes that Carlito used the comment to get back at Ky (who probably said something rude to Carlito,) my younger-self, remembering a childhood of insults and labels, feels a fearful sting.
What is ugly about me? My differences? My face? My skin? My stumpy bod? Is it when I don’t wear make-up? Or blow-dry my hair? Am I just weird and unappealing?
I’m too mortified to admit any of this. So I slam on the cone of shame. You’re being childish and ridiculous. You should be over this insecure s#**! Do NOT let anyone KNOW!
Ever told yourself these doozies?
I wait for Bill to sooth my embarrassing fears…without my having to voice them. But when he doesn’t shower me with compliments, kisses and Krispy Kreams, the smack-down begins. Ugly is no longer the issue. Bill is now on the chopping block.
BS begins to bubble and spit. If Bill, the one who knows me best, doesn’t truly understand about my pain, no one ever will. I’ll always feel very alone.
Cool smokescreen, huh? Note how skillfully BS (Belief Systems) can make the argument about something else, entirely.
It can happen in the blink of a blind eye.
Shame zips me over to the dark side. I see Bill there. Growing horns. He’s stepping into my BS minefield. I’ve already been blown to smithereens. He’s next. And he’s toast.
Funny thing about old negative BS is that, since it isn’t true or kind, it desperately scrambles to be right.
I’m sinking fast as I grab for the old defenses. Blame. Anger. Victimhood. I think these puppies can lessen the hurt by casting the problem off me. By sharing the cesspool of BS.
I’m judging myself, but I need to prove that it’s Bill doing it. Ay caramba.
Is Bill ignoring my sadness (just as I’m doing) and abandoning me in my fears (ditto again.) I replay my old story and it’s frightening ending; he doesn’t really love me (aka I’m just not that lovable.) Woe is me.
Although I’m a former Oscar nominee for hiding feelings, I expect my hero hubster should see right through my charade and save me. He should recognize what I deny. Reveal what I hide. Be effing sensitive to my old wounds.
With rapid fire, I tell Bill how he should show his love for me (since I’m not doing it) and inform him of what he should have said and done differently (guilty again.) The “shoulds” have BS written all over them.
This never ends well.
It was me who wasn’t loving me! I was guilty of every one of my charges against him. I stopped loving me the moment I judged my feelings as weak, childish, stupid. I projected my judgment onto Bill. I didn’t recognize my self-betrayal in the mirror, which was begging for my acceptance.
When I deny my feelings, it will seem as if my pain is outside me, crawling all over someone else.
We can’t run from their reflection because, on a soul level, we are One with them.
Bill goes to bed, angry and confused. I sit in a slump trying to prove that he was wrong. Then I hear myself saying, “he always…” and I feel the pixie-dust tickling my toes. What I claim about him is true about me. So what is it that I always do?
Um, I always think he should be able to read my mind and heart (which I’m hiding) and take responsibility for my happiness (which I’m not doing, at the moment.)
Repeat arguments and complaints are a rawkin’ festival of Biblical-sized BS.
I pull out my notebook to do some Byron Katie exercises called, “The Work.” Arguments are an opportunity to reclaim the peace I’ve lost. The brawl I take up with “them,” is raging within moi. I want to get out of this lonely, dark place where I’m believing things that my soul would never believe about me. Or Bill. It’s a scary spot to visit because the spirit and strength of me isn’t there.
The lights are on, but the feelings aren’t allowed home.
Like children, our emotions will clamor for attention, respect, validation and love, in the most annoying ways…and people. They’ll go viral in the movie all around us – in the characters who look at us sideways. Criticize us. Call us fat. Say goodbye.
What are your ongoing complaints about others?
With accusations and denial, we inadvertently step away from our soul’s wise influence. We’re “beside ourselves” because we’re not lined up with our soul’s stream of energy.
Fortunately, our emotions are a mayday call from the soul that we’re out of synch. We’re suffering because of what we choose to believe. We need to feng shui our feelings and shift our thinking.
We can find the truth about ourselves by looking at where our fingers are pointing. Can we take the advice we hoist on others? Bless the mirror that calls us names? Make amends with our own self-cruelty?
Allow your war-torn fears to come back home.
Our greatest awesomeness is fearlessly guiding us. She has full view of the meaning behind the BS mess. She beams and calls us to the highroad. She’s unshaken by whatever ugliness we barrel into. We’re swept back into her arms when we stop battling ourselves. We plug in and power-back-on when we forgive our forgetfulness.
Beauty is not in the way we look, but in the way we love.
Take a deep breathe. Draw a quiet lavender bath. Settle your soul. Whisper sweet nothings to the Love you cast out. Your own. Woo and romance her humanness back toward the light. She will melt into tears each time you honor her broken, flawed wholeness.
When I welcome myself with open arms, I become a beautiful sight.
Wishing you soft & tender love bombs,