I have this voice inside me, you know the one. The inner monologue. The story you tell yourself. The narrator who never breaks the fourth wall. For some people it isn’t a voice but more like a running reel of imagery or emotions. For me, it is my voice, but a lot meaner. All the anger and hatred and criticism I should feel about the world around me, I have managed to turn on myself.
I used to think she was telling me things I didn’t want to admit. That somehow she had tapped into some deep cosmic knowing that I can’t always access or understand. For a long time – too long – I believed she was telling me the truth. I believed she was protecting me. The proverbial Devil’s advocate, guiding me through the world with realtalk. She may have even formed to protect me – to warn me. If I can anticipate how others will tear me down, I can course correct before they get the chance. I will break myself down so that others don’t have to, and fix it before anyone can see it. This is a special form of prison where no one really cares what I do or how many mistakes I have made, yet somehow I care, and I am an expert at absolutely destroying myself about it.
Brutally, the longer I have failed to control those thoughts, to manage them and redirect them, the meaner that voice has become. The louder it has become. And how gravely this has impacted how I view myself. That voice keeps me locked in an anxiety spiral. Has me doubting and shrinking and settling and tolerating and crawling across floors that are not worthy of my footsteps, licking up crumbs dropped by people who never cared about me anyway. And doing all then while I really should have been locating and strengthening my backbone.
“You don’t have a backbone. You deserve to be walked all over.” She said. And being fed up, and being tired of other people walking all over me I finally looked in the mirror and said, “I do have a backbone. You just made sure I ignored it.”
For example:
I have been working out 3 – 5 days a week. I have lost two pant sizes and am healthier and more toned than I have ever been. The voice says: You’re still fat. Your boobs are too small, that’s why men don’t want you. People are going to see how much you’re eating and make fun of you, act like you’re not hungry.
I was contacted by a recruiter and made it all the way to the last interview with the SVP of the department – and they gave the job to an internal candidate. The voice said: You aren’t qualified for anything and you’re going to be stuck in the corner getting ignored and overlooked forever.
Someone I was seeing and actually really like told me he isn’t ready for the kind of committed relationship I am looking for. The voice said: There is something wrong with you. You’re broken and men can see that and they don’t want to stick around. You’re disgusting and they laugh at you when you leave.
I have struggled with my weight my entire life. For the majority of my life I had an undiagnosed endocrine disorder that impacts my ability to lose weight. I was teased and bullied for it. My sisters, always skinny and shorter than me, called me their “little big sister.” My mom constantly commented on my pant size. Kids in school called me jelly roll and school bus. I learned pretty fast that my body wasn’t the kind that was desirable, in fact it is so detestable that it was exposed to sexual abuse and ridicule. And rather than training that voice to criticize the people doing and saying those things, I internalized. Rather than speaking up for myself, I told myself it was my fault, that if I had better willpower or was less lazy, I wouldn’t have such a disgusting body.
Throwing myself into work, into moving up the corporate ladder served to deliver me out of the hell of a marriage to an alcoholic. In many ways, my career has been the one tool in my toolbox that I could completely control and use as leverage to escape all the other ways my life seemed to be falling apart. As long as I was getting the promotions, the raises, the titles, the accolades, it didn’t matter what I looked like or who came and went in my life. I told myself that as long as I am successful, I have earned the space I take up in the world.
Relationships are the canary in the coal mine for me. They are the leading indicator of all of my disfunction, self hatred, and unhealed parts manifesting. I have been attracted to avoidant, emotionally unavailable men who desire me but can’t, or won’t show up for me the way I need them to. Who find me convenient but not a soulmate. I have not been treated well by men. I was recently telling a friend that I feel like men look at me and see a big sign on my forehead that says “Discard” or “Not Worth It”. He looked at me, shocked, wide eyed. “No, it’s the man, it’s not you.” And deep down, I know he’s right, but the voice says Don’t believe him. If you were amazing they wouldn’t walk away.
The voice doesn’t just roast me, it crushes me into the ground with a core belief that I am not worthy of love, success, or acceptance. It has sent me into desperation in love. Accept the breadcrumbs. Take what you can get and enjoy it while it lasts. Doubt yourself, don’t believe in yourself. Stay small, stay silent, stay agreeable, make jokes.
And yet – I have been successful. I am attractive. I take care of my hair, skin, my body. I have built an amazing life all by myself, without the help and support of a partner. I have achieved more on my own than most people achieve with all the support in the world. And I have managed to move through the world with kindness, empathy, and a deep understanding of what it means to move with integrity and grit. The voice just ensures I do all of that at my own expense.
So here’s what I am doing to change that:
My body –
I pay attention to how I feel. The physical response I have to other people. If I am tired, cold, tense, hungry, anxious, calm, excited. Being aware of and naming how my body feels has given me the ability to address my physical needs. And I work out regularly. Not because of how it makes me look, but because of how it makes me feel. When I first started working out, I attended cycling classes at the YMCA. I had zero stamina. My legs weren’t strong enough for me to pedal standing up. But I kept going back. I kept working, I was consistent. And one day I was able to do the entire standing up interval without having to sit down. And then I started liftng dumbbells. I thought 5 lbs was a mountain attached to my arm. I struggled with the most basic reps. And one day 5 lbs was too easy, so I picked up 10. And then 15, and then 20. The side effect is not on the scale. Compared to one year ago I have only lost 10 pounds, but I dropped two pant sizes. Clothes I used to have to stetch to fit are now baggy. Throw away the damn scale; the scale means nothing.
And I pay attention to whether or not my body relaxes with someone, or if I feel tense and exhausted after being with them. This is my barometer for whether or not I should give more time to that person, regardless what the voice is telling me.
I started doing something new recently. When a negative thought comes up about my appearance, I pause. I analyze the thought. Am I saying that because I haven’t showered and my hair is frizzy, i.e. something I can control? Or am I saying that because I am lacking something elsewhere? And then I correct the thought. Because if I want people to look beyond the physical and see how amazing I am on the inside, I have to stop talking about my body as if it is the cause of all my problems.
“They didn’t respond because they are busy, not because I have frizzy hair.”
“They didn’t break up with you because you don’t have porn star boobs, they broke up with you because they avoid emotional intimacy.”
“You just hit a PR on your deadlift, who cares what anyone thinks about you??!”
“Look at how clear your skin is!”
“Your curls are on point today!”
I observe, question, correct, redirect. Slowly, I am teaching that mean little bully voice that my body is powerful and beautiful and does not deserve to be verbally criticized by me or anyone else.
My Career:
Not getting the job I interviewed for was a huge blow. In my current role, I have been pushed further and further to the side. Where I began with a seat at the executive table, my seat has been moved out into the hallway. That is frustrating and demoralizing. I have never questioned my abilities before now. When I got the call that the job was offered to someone else, I sat down on my patio so my son wouldn’t hear me, and I cried. The disappointment was absolute. I allowed myself to feel that disappointment and to let it out in the form of tears. And then I worked out, which always always helps to lift my mood and put me back into my body after something intensely emotional or disappointing happens. But that bully in my head kept telling me I am a failure. She kept telling me how hopeless it is. That nothing is ever going to change and I am going to be stuck getting talked over, shut down, handed massive responsibility with zero authority, refused the resources I have repeatedly requested and not been given until something goes wrong. And then blamed when things go wrong.
So I went back to my desk and compiled a list of times I asked for resources, or raised a concern, and pulled together evidence of that and what the response was. Documentation in a work setting is the best way to drive accountability for all parties involved. I am have been guilty of saying “no one ever told me that” or “I wasn’t included” only to go back and find an email thread where I absolutely was told, and I was included. Documentation saves a lot of headache for everyone. I created a list of ways I have dropped the ball and edited it until it was as close to true as possible, and then created a list of ways I can address it. I thrive on action plans grounded in facts, and seeing on paper a list of things I can control, right now, to improve my circumstances, made me feel better about how to move forward.
I sat down and looked at my To Do list and decided I was going to crush everything on it, no matter how small. Instead of shrinking and silencing my voice, I speak up. I am honest, I am direct, and I stick to the facts. Because the corporate world values strength. Because women are far too likely to accept the seat in the hall instead of walking in and dominating their seat at the table.
“No one cares what you have to say, they think you’re incompetent.” The voice says.
“I’m going to say it anyway and and I am going to do my homework before I say it, and then I am going to document it. Because I have a rare skill set that is highly sought after and I need to start acting like it.” I replied.
About Love:
I did not use men to fill a void. I used men to distract myself from feeling my trauma and deal with the wreckage it caused. And men who are fine with just being someone’s distraction are not the kind of men who stick around for the long haul. They are themselves avoidant and dismissive. They are themselves seeking validation and distraction. And they are not the kind of men I want to build with. But the voice told me I am not worthy of the kind of man who stays. The voice told me to accept whatever I can get and hang onto it for dear life because no one is going to want me and I am lucky any man looked my way.
The thing is, I genuinely love these men. They are hurting and flawed in their own ways. And I have learned far too late that we attract the very things we fear when we don’t trust ourselves enough to say “I really want this” or “I really don’t want this.” We push away good people or stay with the wrong people too long. We avoid our own feelings and attract people who avoid theirs. I learned that not rocking the boat kept me safe. I learned to abandon my own needs and cater to theirs. And to a man who isn’t serious this feels like pressure, or worse, smothering. To a man who wants validation but isn’t ready to commit, dating an overgiver is perfect at first. Until she asks for more, and then he’s gone. These are the men I keep attracting.
And the voice in my head kept saying I don’t deserve more. And this one I haven’t figured out how to heal and address yet, so I am choosing to stay single until I do figure it out. Because I AM worth more than a situationship, or a man who doesn’t know who he is, or a man who turns me into collateral damage in his war with himself. Until I can show up authentically, real, unapologetic, and prepared to walk away from anyone who doesn’t value me, I am not showing up for any relationship.
And if staying single until I heal means I end up alone longer than I would like, well, I have a solid track record of building an exceptional life without the support of a partner.
Everything I need is already here, or well on its way to me. And there’s nothing that bully in my head can do to change my mind this time, because I am right and she is wrong. Bye, Felicia.
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