Warning! I get very new-age in here, which I know is not for everyone. I just ask for no judgement, which would make me sad, okay?
I can tell when I'm having a fit of insecurity, not by being able to identify the fact that I'm feeling not quite full of self-esteem, but because I start wanting to look up the woman who gave me the Facebook rejection summer before last. (If you don't know what that's all about you can read about it here: An entry in my journal from the year I was crazy)
This last week, I noticed I was thinking about googling her again. that silly Facebook rejection has become something I poke myself with. I started to wonder why I always want to do that.
I have a method of sorting out how I feel about things called "Voice Dialog". All the descriptions I can find online are very aery-faery, new-agey and don't make much sense. Essentially, it's interviewing yourself. You know when someone asks you a question and you are surprised when you hear your answer? It's something like that, only you are asking yourself the question. There's a very good example of voice dialog in the movie "The Big Chill" where William Hurt is interviewing himself in front of the video camera he found in his friend's house. Those of you who know me will not be surprised by the fact that this works well for me because, well, sometimes I just gotta talk.
I like to do it in the car, because one does this speaking out loud, I can babble along without anyone listening or wondering what I'm doing. If I'm feeling particularly self-conscious, I'll plug in a cell-phone ear piece to make it look like I'm talking on the phone.
So, this Sunday while in the car, I ask myself what was up with wanting to cyber-stalk this woman?
My answer? I am 100% convinced she is better than me. She has a better life than me, is a better person than me, a better mom, wife, whatever. She's got much more life experience and is very definitely more evolved from a self-awareness standpoint. Even though I have an issue with her attending a school that allows a person to receive a masters degree in depth psychology by attending classes only one weekend a month and she is now calling herself a therapist/independent mental health professional, at least she DID it. At least she's trying to follow her passion and bliss, more than I can say for scared little me. I'm fat. I'm scared.
Then I spoke to myself again: You haven't seen her since 1993. She says her life is authentic and toxic free, but if it is, then why not just click on 'ignore'? She worked for your mother's best friend in the last 1980's and told her she was actually an Italian princess who had been abducted by the people who raised her. Eventually,she would be able to get in touch with the royal family that were her biological kin and return to her rightful place. She says she's a breast cancer survivor, but that could mean she had a fibrous tumor taken out, you remember how she exaggerated and made things up. You know she would go on yoga retreats, telling you at a party how she did yoga eight hours a day, ate a mono diet of brown rice and water and would then drink a bottle of red wine and smoke a joint. You don't know anything about her.
I answered: The past is the past, she's obviously gotten her shit together. You can tell me that all you want, but I know the truth and the truth is that next to her I am found lacking.
My response to myself: Okay, can you think of anything that will change your feeling about that?
I replied: No.
I asked: Are you willing to just let it sit there until the world talks to you and presents how you'll deal with this? Let's just let it sit there. Don't hang on to it, just let it sit. You know the world will talk to you when you're ready to deal with it.
Now I have this vision of a black ball of ick that jiggles when you poke it with your finger. I'll probably draw a picture of it today.
Amanda's beauty tip of the day: If you find a terry washcloth a little harsh, use a baby washcloth.