Today’s answer comes from Jay Thomas, Dating and Relationship Strategist.
Today’s answer comes from Jay Thomas, Dating and Relationship Strategist.
I forgive myself for thinking there was something wrong with me for so long just because I was adopted. I mean you can understand how I might’ve come to this conclusion, right? This feeling grew stronger, especially after having my own children. I thought who could give a baby away? Later, I learned this is simple for a schizophrenic, who couldn’t care for her own self, much less a child.
I forgive myself for thinking there was something wrong with me because my adopted mother died. Her death was the worst kind of abandonment for me. She cared for me on purpose, with the intent to love and nurture my being. Her death left me wondering, why? Am I not worthy enough to have any type of mother, biological or adopted?
I forgive myself for thinking there was something wrong with me because my adopted father then gave up his parental rights, leaving me to suffer a third type of abandonment. One where the only father I’ve known showed how easy it is to pass a human being on to someone else. He showed me the ease with which one could release a burden…a responsibility. This left me thinking don’t I matter to anyone?
Four years ago, I learned to be grateful for each of these experiences.
I’m grateful that my biological mother left me in an apartment at five months old. Her decision led me to a different environment and a stable, loving family.
I’m grateful for my mother’s death because I learned a valuable lesson at 16 years old. Life can end at any moment; therefore, it should be lived daily. The moment I saw her lifeless body laying in that hospital bed, my own life kicked into gear. Living on purpose wasn’t an option.
I’m grateful for my father’s abandonment. Because of it, I sought the “love” and “comfort” of other men for a very long time, and when I’d exhausted that path, I learned the only person left was the one facing me in the mirror. I learned to give myself love and then vibrate out from that place.
I’m grateful for the totality of these experiences because they’ve taught me that change is the only thing that’s constant. Whether it is as subtle as a flower’s bloom or as obvious as aging; change occurs. And because of these experiences, I know the phrase, “this too shall pass,” to be absolute truth. No pain lasts forever.
Forgiving myself for destructive self-talk and behavior has helped me release negative energy and create a flow for self-love. But first, I had to recognize places where I needed to forgive myself, not others. I had to realize that at no point is anyone else responsible for my life, only I am. For me, that’s one of the most important aspects of self-love: consciously creating your own story, one word at a time.
*This is one of those notes I kept putting off. I figured it was a nice way to begin wrapping up the self-love month.
**Written for Debbie’s Forgiving Fridays, which can be written any day of the week.
On this day, we hear from relationship coach and author of The 5 Phases of Dating, Anita Charlot; she can be reached at anitacharlot.com.
Our second video comes from Michelle at Me, Intimately Worded.
On this day, we hear from Mek, at Work In Progress.
Today’s answer comes from Kat at Maybe Mindful blog:
Next to answer is JayBee, founding member of an award-winning book club, here in Jacksonville called, U.S.G.I.R.L.S. Follow her on Twitter to find out what the acronym stands for!
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I’ve been thinking about discipline a lot. People have asked me how I accomplish things, and I never have a clear answer. I think I do now. Discipline.
In 2009, I quit a school instructional coaching job so that I could focus on finishing my dissertation.
“Who do you know that can actually make themselves sit for hours during the day to write?” my very good friend had asked when I shared my decision.
“I can,” I replied.
And that’s what I did. While Dwight was at work and the girls were at school, I analyzed data and wrote eight hours a day for nine months. I know my friend’s comment wasn’t a judgment against what she perceived me to be able to do or not do. It was more about what many people cannot and will not do…discipline themselves to achieve a goal.
But I want to be clear. I didn’t magically wake up with a spirit of commitment towards projects. It was taught.
Years ago, when people typed things on typewriters, I had a fifth-grade report due on Haile Selassie and Ethiopia. I’d made several mistakes and had to use that awful liquid paper/correction fluid stuff to cover it up and re-type words. It was a bumpy sludge of a mess.
My English major mother peered through her glasses to see how it was going.
“Kathy,” she started, “you’re going to have to re-type this paper. You can’t turn in something that looks like this. Your work is a reflection of you.”
I didn’t say anything back to her. In 1983, children simply sat there and seethed with anger and did what they were told. Or at least that’s what I learned to do.
I sat at that brown dining room table for hours. I wasn’t allowed to watch television until I finished. I ended up re-typing that essay three times, well past The Love Boat and Fantasy Island…and well past my bedtime. But it was done properly. What’s more is because of my mother’s correction I’d learned self-discipline. I’d learned the importance of focusing on one task (typing) and ignoring others (television). I learned to sit quietly and perfect something until it was “right.”
Today, being disciplined has served me well. I function within a distraction-based society by turning my phone over when I’m working and turning it off altogether while I’m sleeping. I’ve learned to take social media breaks when I’m indulging too much, so that offscreen life and people can take precedence. More importantly, I still practice sitting quietly and focusing on the day’s project until it’s complete.
Thirty-something years ago, I typed and re-typed those words through ten-year-old, tear-filled eyes. Now, I’m grateful for that early lesson because I see it as having shaped a positive and useful trait: discipline.
What about you? Do you have a positive superpower that you attribute learning from your parents’ rules? Are you disciplined? Do you want to be more disciplined? Feel free to share below.
Spiritual growth is an inside job. That’s why I work on myself constantly. For me, inspiration stems from relationships and experiences within those relationships. For example, I’d noticed that people with the title mother oftentimes wrap their love in judgment. My mother-in-law, grandmother and stepmother have all, at some point passed judgment on something they thought was best…for me. Whether it’s getting my oldest daughter’s hair done more frequently, not moving around so much or engaging with my dad in ways someone else saw fit, each of these women have offered unsolicited advice about how I choose to live. Conversely, I’d inherited a few of these traits myself. My younger cousins claimed I was “too judgmental” and my own daughter once said I was so “judgy.” I probably was. What finally did it was a group conversation I had with a few friends. One thing led to another, and summer 2013, I decided to try and judge less.
It’s a lot harder than just saying it.
Think of judgment as a big box that encompasses many other things, such as superiority and arrogance. In order for me to stop passing judgment, I had to see myself as equal to everyone. I had to step down from my proverbial moral high ground and stop wagging my opinionated finger at others. We’re the same. I’m equal to the drug addicted, the shop-a-holic and the teenage mom. I’m not better than either of these people, thus I have zero right to judge their lives. If I’m feeling judgmental, then I remind myself of this: anyone, at any moment could judge what you’re doing or have done in your life. Who am I to pass judgment on anyone’s life or life choices?
My next project was learning to trust my intuition. I’ve always had a good sense of how I felt, but somewhere along the way, I’d stopped fully listening. That is until I read T.D. Jakes’ Instinct. My husband and I were having some rough times and I’d met a friend to vent. I didn’t know what to do. She suggested we read the book together. Though I’m not religious, I am open to new ideas, so I agreed. I was so inspired by this book that I attempted a Facebook group centered on the ideas. That was a flop. But my renewed sense of following my heart was not. Using one’s instinct means consciously living life and being mindful about those pesky feelings. You must be perceptive and pay attention to that thing in the pit of your stomach that’s warning you about where you are and who you’re with. Though Bishop Jakes situates the concept in a discussion about passion and purpose, he also touches on relationships. He describes how people grow, sometimes together and sometimes apart due to monotony. Either way, instinct can show you how to proceed. I’d decided then and there to be quiet so I could hear. I quit a job that was too far to drive, wrote a book of Kwotes, started a blog, and just celebrated my 19th year of marriage. I firmly believe intuition is an underrated tool that we all have.
The last principle is a result of my father’s death. So I’m still figuring it out and listening for answers. When my dad died, I needed a lot more compassion and care than I thought I would. Because I had been following my intuition, I was in tune with my emotions. I requested empathy from specific people. It didn’t matter though. Considerations from them didn’t flow like I thought they would. I was very confused. All this time I thought that compassion was an easy sentiment to provide. It turns out that I was mistaken. Compassion is made up of three parts: (1) putting yourself in another person’s place, (2) imagining what she or he might be feeling and (3) doing something considerate. That’s a lot to ask of anyone. It’s a challenge. It takes extra effort. As it turns out, it’s something that I shouldn’t have sought out. So I stopped. Instead, I began showing other people compassion. Like I said, this one is a work in progress but already I feel better being compassionate, rather than seeking it.
“I’m not perfect.” We use this phrase often. But what does it mean? Does it mean that you stay stuck in your imperfect self, while asking forgiveness for bad behavior and judging other people’s perceived imperfections? I don’t have a universal answer. But I do believe that we can all be better than we were yesterday if we try. How are you willing to be a better you? What advice would you add to this?