Vulnerability

Perhaps one of the worst things you can do is misdiagnose the cause of your dissatisfaction, or choose the wrong remedies for it, like I did.

I’ve always prided myself as someone who loves to “go deep.” Those questions and musings which dance around the periphery of our existence…the absurdity of it all…the dark undefined and as yet unexplained edges of consciousness… love it!

Except, apparently, when it came to certain aspects of my life, and the choices I made. How else can I explain my 20s (fine, ok. Half my 30s too…) and why I was so dead set on the “acceptance” gleaned from the musicians I chose to surround myself with and date, believing somehow that – and that alone – was proof I was worthy? My strategy was this: I embodied being “cool,” hiding vulnerability and “unacceptable” feelings, at all costs.

Sadly, it didn’t always go according to plan, as things tend not to when you’re relying on other people as a barometer to measure your self-worth.

I vividly remember an unreturned phone call feeling so excruciating, that I couldn’t stop moving. I got in my car and drove aimlessly, ending up down by the American River. I physically felt so light and empty, as if there was nothing to me; if a breeze came through, I might just blow away.

I was terrified.

But I guess not enough to explore what was really going on, and do the work necessary in order to heal. Because next would come some positive feedback from a song I wrote. A pat on the back from someone I respected in the scene, giving me permission to right the train from wrecking, and feel okay about myself… temporarily.

Another contributing factor to this mess was work. I was offered jobs and took them, never consciously choosing to work in an office. I needed to eat, and for a brief period needed money to spend at bars, where I stayed until closing time both listening and playing sloppy ear-splitting punk rock (which – full disclosure – I sometimes still listen to, without the bars).

It’s probably a good thing that I can’t measure the amount of time I spent wishing I was somewhere else.

Checking the clock.

Feeling so burdened by not being able to leave. Feeling absolutely helpless and stuck.

I went to school, got my AA. Started my Bachelors: Business Administration, because that seemed most in line with what I was doing. Laughable really, because I didn’t like what I was doing, but was so overwhelmed about the thought of trying something else – and not having a clue what that something else was.

If you can’t tell, I had managed to get very lost. I’d handed the wheel over to other people, and was generally unhappy with the direction, scenery, and activities.

In moments where my brain slipped off into daydream, it involved travel and nature.

Freedom.

But how was any of that feasible? I lived paycheck to paycheck, and had no idea how to make something like that work.

Yet amazingly… here I am. I managed to free myself (it took years) and actually make the necessary changes to appropriately remedy what ailed me. Perhaps it took longer to get here than it should have. Yet, everything that came before led me here. I learned what doesn’t work – I remained in that discomfort long enough to be well aware. Which makes what does work so much sweeter. I cherish this; revel in the freedom and self-responsibility.

Self-esteem, trust, all of that remains a work in progress. The fact that people are willing to pay me for my words still boggles my mind. It’s all I’ve ever wanted, and I’m so proud that I got to the point where I can actually withstand rejection, failure – all of that – and not let it break me. I didn’t die!

When you rely on others and the way they view you to determine how you should feel about yourself, you think that in order to be seen in a favorable light, you must always be perfect. Be cool, be cool, failure and rejection are colossal no-nos.

Life is a journey, and I’m stoked to be building a deeper healthier relationship with myself. An honest one, where I’m allowed to be human, and feel the wide range of feelings that come along as part of the package, without being overcome with shame.

I love every minute of this life. In the six months we’ve lived in our tiny cargo trailer camper conversion, I have not once wished to be anywhere else, doing anything else.

I think the biggest gift we can give ourselves is the freedom to be ourselves. To get to know and be honest with ourselves. To emancipate ourselves from relying on a figure in our bank account, what we have, and other people’s opinions of us in order to determine how we should feel about ourselves.

None of that is an accurate measurement of your inherent worth.