Incompetent

It’s been almost two weeks since the conference I attended in Orlando. Eleven days to be exact from that moment in the conference room when what may have been an innocent question sent me over the edge.

The question was, “On a scale of 1 to 10, with 1 being perfect and 10 being broken, how would you describe your relationship with yourself?”

My immediate response was 10. My relationship with myself is broken. I am my own worst critic and I take everything to heart. Every single fault, every inadequacy, every raised voice is a failure.

Acknowledging that broke a dam inside me and the tears flowed, the sobs wracked my body. I am broken.

I don’t know when I broke. I was a very confident teenager. I was firm in my belief system and very willing to share those beliefs with anyone who asked. Yes, I told people I thought I was fat but I did that only because I kind of that that’s what teenage girls were supposed to do. I never actually thought I was fat back then. I mean, come on, I was 5’6” and weight between 115 and 120. I most assuredly was not fat.

But by the time I’d hit my mid to late twenties, I began to doubt myself. I thought maybe I was pretty good person but sometimes I wondered.

And now, in my early forties, a time when I’m supposed to finally becoming comfortable in my own skin, I often find myself wallowing in self-loathing.

That’s not good. Not at all.

So…I need to fix me.

I need to learn to like myself and celebrate those things I know I do well. If only I could think of something to celebrate…

Obviously, this will be an ongoing process.