I am a woman of courage, and I did something courageous today. But first I want to say where I am.
I have lived my life trapped beneath self-contempt so deep that until I was 33 I loathed and denied who I am: I pretended to myself I was something else so hard that I believed it. And I still have contempt for myself, though it lessens.
And in my years as a recluse I have moved from despising my femininity, to celebrating it. What keeps me here is my fear of the world, and my despair. So it would behove me to deal with those, as well as recognising and celebrating my achievement in accepting my own femininity.
I have always felt
that each success was only to be expected so nothing to be proud of but each failure was a DISASTER again proving beyond doubt my worthlessness.
Not particularly healthy.
One of the gifts of the Hoffman Process was to see how much we follow patterns ingrained in our parents, unfree whether we copy them or rebel. During that week I identified one of my patterns and called it “Shit-hoovering”- collecting stories about how threatening the World is, in order to justify fleeing it. Hoffman says that once one sees the pattern, one is freed and at choice whether to follow it or do something else. Um.
How great my fear is!
So, what was the courageous act? I cycled down to the shop in Marsby for groceries, a two mile round trip.
even frightened of that. The inner critic pipes up with the “even”, so I reject it. I was frightened of it. I did not want to go. I did not want to leave my house. I did not want to speak to anyone. So in the shower at 3pm I bigged it up.
Because I fear it, This is something COURAGEOUS. It is worthwhile, because it is caring for myself. I have denied my courage for too long. I will celebrate my courage.
Indeed I thought of boasting of it here.
A woman stopped by the kerb to let me pass before she crossed the road, and as I passed her started to sing “I believe I can fly.” The song circled in my mind as I cycled on.