I don't normally read "Self-Help" books. Not because I think I don't need the information -- or the help, for that matter -- but I suppose there are just so many of them out there, often containing contradictory information, that I only get confused. And it seems that with every smart, sane one there are a couple more written by fake experts who are really only brilliant marketers in disguise looking to make a quick buck (at least this is my opinion). It's sort of the same way I feel about the gazillion diet plans out there.
But I have a good friend who reads these books regularly, and she frequently tells me about what she's gleaned from them and how each has helped her. She has this particular gift for distilling only what's truly useful to her, which she's blended together to create her own personal philosophy and guide to life.
Now I have a lifelong tendency, you see, to do two destructive things: One, I beat myself up for making mistakes -- especially when I believe that I should have known better than to make them; and, Two, I deal with hurt by trivializing it and its effect on me. Both have to do with my ego and pride, of course. For instance, the last time my heart was broken I kept telling myself that the man wasn't worth my tears -- but then I kept hitting myself over the head whenever I felt the pain. And of course, I did the very same thing the last time before...and then the time before that, too. What I do, essentially, is numb myself to the original hurt by hurting myself more so that I feel only my own destruction.
The best way for me to describe what I do is by explaining what I used to do when I suffered from horrible eczema as a child. The itch seemed to come from this really deep place inside of me, one that I couldn't reach because it felt like it was lodged between bone and muscle, and so the frustration was so overwhelming that the only way I could make it go away was scratch viciously until my skin became raw, tore apart and bled. I could live with the pain, which was of my own making, but not the itch, which seemed to come out of nowhere and which I couldn't control.
So going back to that last time I found myself trying to beat myself over the head again for falling for the wrong someone for all the wrong reasons and at the wrong time. I was talking to my friend, trying to figure out why I couldn't get past my feelings of stupidity but also why I couldn't stop thinking about the guy; for instance, at any time of the day I still knew what he was probably doing because I knew his routine so well. I told her that just when I thought I was over him and that I was finally OK I'd feel a pang come out of nowhere and realize I was still stuck. It was like an itch I couldn't get to -- and it was driving me crazy.
"That's because you have to allow yourself to feel the pain," she said. "You have to let the pain go through you and you need to fully experience it -- and then let it go." At first I thought she'd been reading one self-help book too many: how could she say that when clearly I was still feeling all this pain that she said I wasn't? Patiently she explained that what I was feeling was my hurt ego, not the hurt from the experience itself. She suggested that I find a bit of quiet time and space, and then let all the emotions go through me, past me, so that they were finally behind me.
I remember how difficult it was to do just that, even if it sounded so simple and easy. That's when I realized that years and years of protecting and shielding myself didn't stop me from repeating any of my harmful patterns; they only prevented me from healing afterward each and every time. I hadn't been allowing myself to be human, to acknowledge that I was capable of making mistakes and failing; in fact, I was punishing myself by pretending that no one and nothing could -- or should -- scratch me. I was like that kid again, who preferred to feel my own destruction rather than admit that someone or something else was capable of causing me any kind of damage.
It took me a while to learn how to do what she suggested -- to feel and live through the pain so that I could let it go and not look back. But I remember that when I finally decided to give it a shot, it was like I'd given myself permission to be human and I felt a bit of the weight lift off from my shoulders without doing anything else. It wasn't easy -- and it still isn't. Like my mother often tells me, I like to do things on my own and not ask anyone else for help. But part of the problem is that even when I'm the only one who can help myself, I stand in my own way whenever I refuse to acknowledge that I need it in the first place.
It's difficult feeling so open and raw. But I've since discovered, thanks to my friend, that it's necessary to start from that place in order to heal. Look, I even have scars to prove it.
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