Being A Warrior, Not A Worrier
Picking Up Self Love, and Leaving Self Judgement at the Door
C-PTSD has been a big part of my life, along with it the unwelcome visitor — worry. I’ve spent a lot of time worrying instead of living. When I was travelling with my little girl in January and COVID19 hit the news, I knew I’d have to go warrior versus worrier to finish our travels. I’m trying to learn how to apply this more often.
A lot of my healing has come through self-learning and experimentations with therapy methods in between waiting times to get therapists.
Not something I’d suggest you do unless you have the right support; I’m very fortunate to be friends with some very talented and knowledgeable therapists. I also came to gain a chosen family in replacing the family who abandoned me in the throes of postpartum depression as a newly single-mum-from-pregnancy; the support I absolutely needed as I explored my demons.
One good thing about feeling unloved for who I was by my real family meaning that now I am unconditionally loved and accepted. Making it easier to spend time alone when I need it, without questioning if I matter.
What I’ve come to learn and achieve in the last 3 years since my pregnancy has been beyond my former comprehension. I just believed I was unloveable; I’m just not a people person — not true.
Conditioning in my malleable post-traumatic state had people I loved denying my reality, minimizing my feelings, and abusing me for sticking up for myself.
I’m ever so grateful to be receiving therapy to work on switching out of surviving to thriving. It’s a little different now we’re doing it via phone, it’s still how I’m filling in the blanks. It’s perfectionism and self-criticism holding me back.
Perfectionism; a term often thrown around trivially, is actively causing me a lot of physical pain and distress; having wreaked havoc in my life since my teens.
Crying Every Day
I’ve been crying near daily. It’s the only thing that gets rid of that crushing pain in my chest. I was getting worried; until I sobbed heavy, ugly tears and the pressure was lifted.
I didn’t feel sad; particularly. So when I mentioned to my therapist when she asked how I’d been doing “…Yeah, and I’ve been crying most days, but I don’t feel depressed.” When she lent to me, in a kind way — that was still depression, a lightbulb appeared.
I’ve been gaslighting myself.
Shaming myself out of depression, like it was weakness; instead of processing it; allowing it to flow and leave of it’s own accord. I was stacking feelings up like a panic buyer hoarding toilet roll.
As soon as I realized this, I took my little girl out for a walk in her buggy and allowed myself to be sad. Almost straight away I started to feel better. Sometimes, I forget I need to listen to and honour my inner child.
Perfectionism
Which of course led my perfectionist habits to come creeping back out; with body dysmorphia and disordered eating threatening to make their unwelcome return. When I’m feeling a lack of control — normal in our locked down reality — I try and clamor for control through unrelenting high standards and criticizing myself to the point I’m devoid of energy; struggling to bang out a simple 2 hours work from overthinking it.
Forgiving myself and showing self-compassion has been key — I remember this from overcoming chronic fatigue and pain — I just forgot for a hot minute there.
One thing I’ve found most useful here being, learning more about the ego states (I love Mindset by Carol Dweck). I’ve had to kindly remind myself that doing is enough; I don’t need to hyper-achieve in every activity, piece of writing, run or workout I do.
Self Criticism
I’d learned to criticize myself as self-protection; believing I could out-criticize myself before the family, boyfriends, corporate bullies, trolls or teachers could get there. The reality being that criticism became the loudest voice in my head; still playing a key role in holding my ass back when I let it.
It’s a work in progress, reawakened after being retraumatized when I moved home to have my little girl and faced the emotional abuse from the family I thought loved me. I still can’t quite get over the damage caused. It’s ok though: I’ve healed a tremendous amount; time, self-compassion and belief, alongside doing the work will get me there.
I fully believe I’ll get there. I’ve served my time — these shackles are coming off.
Reality
I’m a badass woman and mummy. I love my tenacity; I never give up. I’ve weathered the grief from loss of both of my parents to addiction and numerous narcissistic relationships in the wake. I’ve stood up for myself personally and professionally in the face of corporate bullying — putting myself on the line to stand up for others too. I’ve built businesses while battling my hardest life events; faced trolling, stalking and malicious social services report from an ill-practicing childminder — yet I still move forward in love and hope, always believing in the possibility life holds and believe in the greater good.
Life will always hand out challenges, I’m going to love myself enough to be my cheerleader through them all.
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