Focus

 I've worked hard this summer to facilitate a change in my focus. It takes mental work, but I'm hoping it will pay off.

I try to rephrase things in my life that get me down or make me feel like I'm not good enough. I don't want to give myself excuses, either. But you can be committed to progress without ever feeling like you're a bad person. We, as people, don't have to be motivated by our perceptions of what we suck at, and for some people, that's an astonishing revelation.

You don't have to be motivated to workout because you hate your body or because you think you're disgusting.

You don't have to be motivated to be a better parent because you think you're doing the worst job ever.

The trouble with negativity-based change is that negative thinking is a habit, and it doesn't help you when the going gets tough. When you're so accustomed to thinking badly of yourself, you're not surprised when you fail. You give up easily, and hate yourself for doing it. You assume you'll suck before you even get started. You're always convinced you'll never actually measure up. 

Negative self-talk sows the seeds of failure before you even start trying change for the better.

There's a better way.

Here are some actual things I think and say to myself (with the old thoughts in italics) to help shift entirely away from negativity-fueled change.

"Wow, I don't feel like a great parent today (I always lose my temper and I should play with my kids more. Being a mom is so hard on me, and I feel like a waste of time), so I'm going to do something in the next hour to change that."

"I feel self-conscious wearing this swimsuit. (People will think I'm gross and fat because I am. Maybe I should stay on the blanket so I don't have to stand up in front of people) Well, people aren't going to be looking at me anyway, so I might as well forget about feeling uncomfortable around them."

"I ate chocolate cake for breakfast. (I might as well give up or I can never stick to anything. I should have done better. I'll always be this way) I'm going to find some veggies for a healthier lunch."

"This workout is too hard for me. I feel like quitting. (I feel like quitting. I might stop early. I shouldn't have come. Why did I think I'd ever be good at this?) But feeling like quitting is not a good enough reason to quit."

"Doing this gives me anxiety. I want to hide. (Why am I always so broken? Why can't I be stronger?) But I'm more important than my anxiety, so I'm going to finish this."

Am I perfect at this game? Not even close. But I know I have come a really long way in shifting my focus. 

Don't "should" yourself to death. Don't shame yourself. Don't define yourself with defeating absolutes. Instead, take charge of what you'll do when faced with a situation you don't like. What will you do about it? 

If you ever engage in negative self-talk, I encourage you to try these course corrections. This is how you give yourself grace without giving up on achieving great things. 

Loneliness

As a child, I always struggled to make friends.

Reading people and knowing what they expected was always hard for me. I was frequently anxious, but also incredibly lonely. This combination would lead to an intensity that might scare away any potential friends. I also had a fear of people who would expect too much from me, afraid that they might need things I wasn't emotionally ready to give. I needed a friend who could handle my neediness, while not really needing me too much. Someone who wouldn't get tired of me, but who would allow me to tire of them when I needed time to myself.

It turns out, such a person did not exist in elementary school. Or in junior high. Or really in high school. I had acquaintances. I had people I could joke with and eat lunch with, but I always saw myself as other, a hanger-on, an acceptable member of the crew. I'd still be left without a partner when people in my circle of acquaintances would pair off with better or best friends. I'd still be invited to parties, but as an afterthought or "Oh yeah, you should come too." 

These experiences made me intensely self-conscious in social situations. I would say nothing instead of speaking. I would hang back because I was not sure if I was welcome. I would secretly crave a call or a text or a message from someone, anyone, who might think of me after the last bell rang at the end of the day. Someone who might have a story to tell me or a joke to share or even a friend to give them advice. Someone who might invite me over to play. 

Those calls did not come and I would always have to message first.

When college came around, I carried lack of confidence like a shield before my face. I was secure only in my intelligence. I could answer questions in class and talk with my professors during office hours, but I could not speak to the person sitting in the seat next to me. I was surprised when people would laugh at something I said. I was amazed that a boy could notice me enough to ask me on a date and be interested in what I had to say. I was devastated when that same boy, in my opinion, got tired of me and found someone more interesting to date, but there was a voice in my mind that said I should have expected it all the time. 

Gradually, I gained a little more self-esteem. But the feeling that I might be forgettable stayed, and honestly, has developed into my greatest fear.

Some of my most prized memories are instances in my life when I've been remembered without me having to ask to be remembered.

That day at the end of freshman year where a neighbor who had noticed I was low on money brought me groceries, including Wheaties, as fuel for my exams. That time a person from my gym brought me a Mother's Day card. The person who brought me flowers when they remembered my husband was gone for the National Guard. The coworker who took me to see the Nutcracker ballet just because he knew I'd always wished to go. These moments are treasures to me. 

A way to respond to fear is to overact. To force connections. Hopefully, that's not me, because besides being forgotten, a close second fear is that people might have to pretend. And I don't want that.

But the other way is to treat people like I hope to be treated in my life. Because I know how it feels to be without a friend, without a partner, without a real group, without a person you can depend on. I know how it is to be overlooked. I know what it is to be accepted, but never truly embraced. 

To bring cookies for the person who likes them. To remember a birthday. To find the perfect gift because you were listening to something someone said. To clean up for someone who's feeling overwhelmed. To make dinner for a sick friend. To text a person for help just because they might need to feel remembered and valued. To always try to encourage, to smile. 

Weakness can become a strength. Loneliness and the fear that comes with it may color every experience I have, but hopefully, the final painting is a happy one, because that loneliness might be what drives me to help others see that they are not alone. 

Raining

You can smile when you go out
And no one really sees how much you doubt
Their intentions.
You can take a hug or even give one
But no one really feels how you know
You might not matter.

Because even when the sun is shining
There's nothing quite like finding
Clouds when the forecast is clear.
The clouds are there
And they can't see them
So you worry and you wait and you fear
That you can never trust yourself to know
Whether or not it's actually raining.

When you're at the train station
No one sees you check your pockets again,
Tenth times the charm.
You can try to tell yourself not to look
But without reading ahead in the book,
There's no guarantee.

Because even when the world is turning
There's nothing quite like learning
That your world is just standing still.
The hours aren't passing
And they don't notice
So you hope and you work and you feel
That you can never trust yourself to know
What it's like for minutes to just tick by.

Even when the winter turns to spring,
Snow's still falling on your driveway.
Even when the road is straight,
Your path is always curving.
Even when you know it's in your mind
You can't quite help swerving
To miss the car or the deer or whatever is wrong.
You were sure it was there all along.

You can write all of your words
And risk that no one will ever learn
How you mean them.
You can speak the truth out loud
And hope that someone will see a cloud
And decide it matters.

Because, here, it's actually raining.