I get mildly freaked out when someone refers to me as a ‘guru’ of ANYTHING.
I work in IT and I’ve been referred to as guru a number of times in different settings.
Just let me say this: HAHAHFUCKINGHAHA
I am NOT an IT guru by any stretch. It drives Randy nuts when I say this, but I am mediocre at best. I try to explain that this is not my normal self-deprecation…that I really AM just mediocre. It’s true. I have never cared enough to become really good at it. I’m a bad geek.
There are other things I say to myself, however, that are very cruel.
Just a little while ago, I spilled some green tea on the floor. Just a few drops. I started to walk away from it because really, getting a paper towel and bending over was too daunting. This is what I told myself: OH YOU STUPID BITCH. REALLY? Clean up the mess you made.
I reached for the towels and made an effort to change that statement. This is what I tried on: Michelle, you will feel better if you clean up that tea you spilled. You’ll be happy when you don’t have little sticky spots that will eventually turn black and be a pain in the ass to clean up later.
It did NOT feel natural.
I go back to my therapist tonight after having a week off and I had homework to do . I had two fucking weeks to do this homework…but did I do it? No.
The last time we met, I was supposed to tell her about the mean things that I say to myself. This week, I’m supposed to tell her the things I can say to replace the mean things.
You guys, I am totally getting an ‘F’ on this assignment.
The mean girl who lives in my head holds a LOT of power. She has run the roost for many years now. She is authoritative and can offer a fuck ton of evidence that proves I suck. My narcissist father gave her the fodder and she’s been doing his work for years now.
I understand that taking that power away from her is essential in getting better and loosening the hold of my narcissist past. But can’t we start with something a little more simple?
Like learning to knit?
Or sky diving?
It really shouldn’t be so hard to be nice to ourselves! I am ridiculously nice to EVERYONE else in the world. But ask me to say something positive about myself and I’m suddenly drowning in a miasma of internal criticisms. I try to go easy on myself – it’s been programmed in there to talk to myself that way for a LONG time and it’s obviously going to take a while to change that.
A couple of nights ago talking with my husband and I said something along the lines of, “Well, I guess I’m kinda smart. I don’t think I’m TOO stupid.” He snorted. Snorted! He then said that I’m the smartest person he knows so get over it and accept it. LOL I’m too afraid to take up skydiving, but I’d be happy to come over to learn to knit and drink Knob Creek with you! š
Okay, first..miasma is a GREAT word. And I get you. It’s painful, right?
I figure if I could sky dive, I’d never be afraid of anything ever again as that is about the scariest thing I can ever imagine doing.
Right there with you, Michelle. What scares and saddens me the most is that the mean girl who lives in my head has bullied me into believing that I deserve the abuse that she dishes out. When engage in vicious verbal self-flagellation, it actually feels… I don’t know. Satisfying, on some level? Substituting kinder self-talk feels entirely wrong. Clearly, I have a lot of work to do.
I’ve been skydiving and loved every minute of it. But the thought of talking to strangers at a party still terrifies me. Unless I’m distinctly non-sober. I’d be happy to teach you to knit.
I can talk to strangers. I’m awkward and terrified of looking like a loser than no one wants to talk to..so I talk to people. But FUCK jumping out of a plane.
Non-sober helps with the talking…
And yes..there is almost a comfort to the bad self talk. It’s familiar. This new ‘being nice to myself’ thing feels dumb.
I’m terrified when I talk to strangers. I’m so terrified that I spend so much time beating myself up for my stupid contribution to the conversation that I don’t even hear what the other person is saying most of the time. It’s pitiful really.
It’s a bad habit that I need to break.
I wish I could talk you out of the ‘pitiful’ part. I’ve read your blog and you have a wonderful voice…so what if you babble a little here and there. I think the best of us do. š
I don’t always hear what other people say, either…too worried about what I’m going to say and trying to talk myself out of blurting something stupid. I’m learning to just accept that shit and laugh about it. Well…at least other people laugh about it.
Well, the IT Guru thing does explain why your blog is so cool. I love that I don’t have to squint to read anything, and I love the photo circles for each post. It’s awesome. I do look for a button that says “I AM a Spammer, though. Every time. Because I wonder where a button like that might lead? To a blog called Quarantine where you are lectured about spamming, called bad names, and have to listen to chalk screech sounds?
Hahaha…I actually work on ancient technology…hubs is my IT dept. He does content shit for a living though, so I’m lucky.
We should totally create a page for spam punishment.
I don’t know you, but I admire your dedication to the online community that is the Bloggess’ comment section. So there’s that.
Why is it so difficult to talk positively to one’s self? For me, I think it might be that I equate sarcasm with wit and humor and if I don’t have to worry about hurting someone’s (someone else) feelings, I just don’t always bother engaging the editor function.
I understand the concept that speech patterns (even self-speech) tend to become thought patterns when repeated over time, and thus have real impact on one’s personality. Maybe I just feel weird complimenting myself but OK criticizing myself?
Anyway, good luck!
I guess we all have different reasons for mistreating ourselves, don’t we?
I have so much been enjoying reading all the different blogs. It totally satisfies my inner voyeur.
I love this idea! I will totally get an F in it too though. I’m kind of jealous your therapist gives you assignments. I always feel like my therapist appointments are totally unstructured and it pisses me off because I’m like hello I’m paying you, hurry up and tell me what we’re talking about!
I’ve only gone 3 times so far. I’m very skeptical about talk therapy, but I’m really going to give this a shot. Plus she’s an intern and it’s only 10.00 a visit. š
Michelle, my mean girl has been in my head for years and years — ever since I can remember. She does her best to convince me that I’m worthless, broken, and that I deserve to be unhappy. I’ve been in therapy on and off since I was in grade school — and pretty much full time for the past two years. Sometimes it seems to be helping, and then I slip back again. Just in the past few months, I started blogging (because in real life, I so often feel pressure (mostly by myself) to edit what I say and not to express my real feelings).
What I’ve found is that so many other bloggers are dealing with one or more of the same issues as me. Hell, it almost makes me feel “normal” and one of the group! I’m still working on being more friendly to myself — but it helps to know I’m not alone in that.
Thank you for your comment! And it feels so fucking good to NOT be alone in this…
My 6 year old is SO hard on himself. He doesnt want to take public risks, and that leads to a smaller life than he might otherwise have. The irony is that he is smart and coordinated. Unlike his brazen older brother who is a completely confident clutz. Thinks he runs as fast as anyone in the universe as he literally trips over his owen feet. In any case I was talking to a friend about the younger one’s lack of risk keeping. I have been so careful neither to criticize nor praise him as all the current parenting research (can you fucking believe i am writing this?) says praise = terrible. She points out that he hears the criticism anyways. I ask how. She answers…in the way I speak to myself. Oh shit. Another thing to be harsh about. To me.
I have to think that you are so aware of this that you’re doing the right things. It’s funny…how kids can be in the exact same environment, yet be so different.
I think as long as your son feels safe and loved, then he’ll work through any difficulties he has. I don’t think ANYONE gets to get through life without having SOME issues to work through.
Hey – commin’ roun’ the mountain late as usual š Well… I guess that is fashionable in some circles. This homework assignment should have been easy. That is… IF it was really as you wrote:
“This week, Iām supposed to tell her the things I can say to replace the mean things.”
Look at this literally. This week. Comma. I am supposed to tell her the things I CAN say to replace the mean things. Period. Did she tell you to spend two weeks forcing yourself to SHOVE new opposite thoughts into your mind for EACH supposed negative thought and write them down? There is a distinction, you may agree, between what one CAN or COULD BE TAUGHT TO do versus what one IS DOING or DOES. No?
I went through many cycles of group therapy – specifically Dialectical Behaviorial Therapy (DBT) {learning life skills to function in situations that would trigger episodes of our non-desired behavior and building up those tools in times of lesser need so that they are second nature in times of great need} …. dialectical meaning two supposed opposites existing at once within the same time space (ex. given: teenagers yelling how they hate their parents one second for something that they got told “no” for and then two seconds later asking that same parent to take them to the mall and stating how much they love said parent {there is actually a book w/ a similar title}). Throughout the many groups and the myriad assignments, I learned the hard way that I could make my homework hard or simple – painful or enjoyable – or just skip it. I was going to get out of it what I got into it. But, the simer I kept it, the easier the skills got to be to really use day to day and when stressers came my way – my reactions were much less like Mt Killamongaro than the previous time. By the time my supervisor’s supervisor called me away to talk to me and escorted me into a room where three sheriffs were waiting for me and it turned out that the management twisted my words purposefully and lied to report a statement to the sheriffs, I really didn’t blink twice and kept my head high as I was escorted out the building and “forced” to go to the hospital for an examination. They said voluntary, but when you say that you are going to slap a 72 hr hold on someone if they don’t go “voluntarily” well, then that is actually forced – dumbass! Just another thing to put in my record to use when they set forth to hand me my pink slip. And our Union is only good for one thing in our county and that is to make sure they get our dues. After that it’s Darwinian…
Now, had this happened prior to having six years of group therapy with the focus on DBT; or had I not had that therapist who called the police to do a “safety check” every time we had a fight and I would not pick back up the phone… (I am not kidding… the police came to my apartment one day and tried to push all my buttons to get me to snap, but I kept asking how was it illegal for me to leave my phone to ring if choose not to answer it? Eventually, they had to leave & I promised I would call my therapist); and having gone through a 2-year process of reporting that psychologist that I had gotten really close to, but things went farther south than the last level of Dante’s inferno and so I was talked into reporting her to the Board of Psychology for our state & the lawyer on our state’s Board is the Attorney General – so THAT was interesting; plus, the daughter of that therapist who lives in this city filed a bogus and lie-filled restraining order against me & when we went to court, she flawlessly lied under oath – but, hey, mommy is a therapist, daddy a lawyer, she’s a city lobbyist, and her boyfriend at the time (now husband) was a city prosecuted for the State and a counselman for the State House of Representatives… so, it also didn’t really surprise me the night the police banged down my door and she had falsely reported that I violated that order and I ended up in a court battle that no one else in the planet would have had to go through, but because of being white, rich, and suckin’ the right lollipops, I was able to be forced to go through it all…. But, you know, that’s how I roll…
When I lived in a group home that I had been forced to move into even though my foster mother was willing to take me back, I had a roommate who was one serious bad ass motherfucker. AALLLLLL the police in our downtown knew her and the police in her suburb knew her. The ONLY reason she wasn’t a G-Queen was because she said she wasn’t doing no damn train (just in case you don’t know… in this context it means to literally have sex with every single member of the gang one after another – like a train) – but she’d done everything else plus. She could beat down a man easy and she was some tiny white girl, but that was how you got fooled. Nothing phased her. Years later after we had reconnected and we were chillin’ I was saying something about my mom and this same person who met my mom when we were in the group home back all those years said, “Yeah, that’s one crazy bitch I would never fuck with.” I almost crashed. She said that she clearly remembered meeting my mom and there was something in her eyes that was so evil and possessive over me that she wasn’t kidding – my mom was someone that, with all her fight experience and gang activity, she wouldn’t try and cross her in a million years. Now, when I hear that… I feel like I finally get validation for what I lived through. Child protection had even come to my school, she was calm and listened to all my details of what my mom did (which makes people cringe when I talk about it even today) and when we were do e talking she told me – God as my witness – that she was very sorry for what I was experiencing, but the law was very clear (at that time) and unless there were bruises, I was not being abused. Then she left and I went back to class. Shortly after my mother had passed, one of my aunts even told me (why on earth – I don’t know) that when they would get some type of communication from my mother and guess she might be going through one of her psychotic episodes – they would be SO worried and they would HOPE that I was okay. WTF?! Now that I am an adult I can look at an 8 – 15 yr old and I know what one can be responsible for at what age and what not, but you mean to tell me that my mother’s own siblings had the fucking nerve to reveal that they really had been terrified of their younger sister who was not getting treatment for her mental health condition that seriously got worse and WORSE as I got older and yet, knowing that… ALL they did to help and protect their niece (a child) was to HOPE?! You motherfuckers. And not to mention that fucker of a man, her father, my grandfather, who molested me for years and when my own mother walked in on us… she locked eyes with me, turned around and walked back into the other room with grandma. That night, back at our house, mom told me how she’d reconfigure my lung functionality if ABC… And then the ass died exactly one year and twelve hours after my mother. Same date of death. And my cousin tells me (why I don’t know) my father said he had thought about giving you some of the split after the sale of the house in honor of what would have been your mom’s share if grandpa had written the will exactly that way, but he said he decided not to in the end because you are young and can work your way through still, but this is his last windfall. My other aunt waited until it was way too late to tell me that the reason every one thought that I was going to get a share in the sale of the house in lieu of my mother was because they thought I went to probate court to contest. I said that I didn’t see room to contest in the will. Oh no, their bona fide lawyer, who took time to read over the will and give it careful consideration said I had full right to contest and get inheretance in lieu of my mother. But, I only had an acquaintance who listened to me read a few sentences and told me “no chance”. Thanks a fucking lot you marvelous family – sexually molested, emotionally tormented, almost ex killed, left to sink of swim of my own accord in life in general, and then fucked over on inheritance money… yeah, thT sounds about right for the black sheep – literally the only Black person within this family tree portion. You fuckers!!
So, as you can see, well, I had just a few small things that I have been working on in therapy. But, the homework shouldn’t be dreaded or felt like it is too overwhelming. And, you can always ask her to give you some basic examples of what she wants you to do. Once at work, I could tell that the individual on the other end of the phone was not understanding me so I broke it down, “John, I am not going to send up the ticket so you can call it. That is not what I am asking you to do. What I want you to do is stand up and, with your own voice, literally holler out the number A514. Yell it loudly and clearly a couple of times and see if any one in the lobby responds. Okay? If they do, call me or instant message me so I can get this information into the computer correctly before I send this to the team, ok?” Dumbass had to be told to stand up and yell, well… his mind wasn’t “there” and many MANY times we make things really mucky and complicated when it could be really simple.
Stand and deliver (ooooh that was a goooood movie – I didn’t mean to end with a pun, but what the hell!)
I’ve had to read this twice to get my head around it. I will probably have to go back for a third read later.
First, I feel overwhelming compassion for you and what you lived for. What an amazing and horrifying story you have. Sister, I hope more than anything your life is filled with peace now.
I almost typed peach instead of peace..which would be ENTIRELY different. Although, if you like peaches, I hope you have them, too.
In thinking about this, I kept coming back to the fact that regardless of the story, we all have our past..and the past is rock solid. There is nothing we can do to change it. I have railed against that for so many years.
Now? I am really trying to appreciate my life..right at this moment..because that is all there is.
Thanks for the thoughts on the homework. I might be over thinking it. I’m probably over thinking it…it’s what I do.
Now? I’m supposed to come up with: If I wake up in the morning and everything is as I think it should be…what would I be feeling and what would it take for everything to be as I would like it.
So far…nothing..wispy, smoky thoughts that I can’t grasp..
It was all ’bout the homework. The life issues since I returned to my home state were just examples of what I am/ have been going through and encouraging you in the fact that, if I can wade through these minor life triggers… anyone can… but it is like anything we do… you start small, practice that bit and slowly learn more.
There are different approaches to DBT… I had one therapist who did the “from scratch” style and another therapist who wanted to (or maybe believed that she was) give more credit to individuals and show them how they were already doing some things that fit into the toolbox of DBT skills and from here we are going to expand.
The waking up and just BEING. That is SO hard. I once read a book by a Christian author… there was an interesting line that I always smile about that relates to this. The Master demon who is training the new legion of ghouls or demons or whatnot is instructing his nephew in his letter to make sure to keep his “human” focused EITHER on the past or the future, but do not – under any circumstances – let the human maintain itself in the state of BEING in the present moment, for – he wrote to emphasize the importance to his nephew – it is the closest mirror there is to the state of peace in eternity and we can NOT allow that!! Well, religion, faith, or all pharmaceuticals aside, the fact is, the more time you spend focused on and mulling over the past, you stay in depression and invite it for tea and whatnot… While the more you stay focused on the future in the sense of wondering and worrying and being in fear… you may as well buy stock in the anti-anxiety med of the month and watch the trend as you take your own pills each day.
Mindfulness can help to BE IN THE MOMENT. It is one of the skills and modules of DBT as created and taught by Marsha Linehan. Groups are everywhere and resources are abound. This is about purposefully changing your behavior in a situation in order to better steer your emotions. There is also CBT – Cognitive Behaviorial Therapy – focusing more on reframing and changing the thoughts to get the emotions to come around.
My current therapist is trained in both, but has a stronger emphases on CBT. Whereas my last therapist is an up and coming DBT “guru” and only a year older than me. This therapist, however, is director of the clinic with 30 some years of experience and she is the first Black mental health provider I have worked with and she is helping to kind of polish and or sand down the Black part of my identity into the mix so that it is more fluid instead of a separate compartment. My homework assignment is to write up goals for each section of a wellness wheel whose sections are named both in English and an African language – I would have to go back and really look at it.
But all my life… every thing has been boxed here and there and this and that. Every one is like that to some extent, but I have had to do some drastic changes due to my mother and her illness. My mother’s older sister told me that when I was a child I smiled and laughed and played and goofed like any other child, but let my mom walk into the same room after having been gone and the change was like night and day. On one hand, it validates that my mother was having an effect and on the other – being told this while I am now an adult pisses me the hell off. I was in Moscow walking down a street and I went OFF on a woman who backhanded her child ahead of me. I didn’t care what she understood or if my conjugations were right or if her man was going to come around the corner and happen to be Russian mob. I ran ahead and put my face all up into hers and I was in another country – where they could have arrested me and said whatever they wanted to and tossed away the key. But I stood up for that kid who looked to be about 5 or 6 years old. And my own blood didn’t do a damn thing day after day into year after year, but hope?! If I tell that to people up here where I live it’s very interesting. All the White people I have told just sit and say something about how awful that is, but all the Black people immediately ask me IF they are White, and when I say “yes” they go on about how they “knew it” because Black folks don’t play that shit… and then it goes into what would have happened had that plYed out if it would have happened while visiting my dad’s family (if my mother would have EVER allowed that to happen). Sometimes they don’t even ask me if they are White, they’ll say the “Are they…” and I’ll wait, but I will notice their fingers have started to scratch over the paper next to them – which is white. And then it starts in about “Hmmmm…mmmm… I knew it… If they were Black… lemme tell you…”
So, I am trying to integrate some of these parts of me into more of a whole – you know? But, it feels like a challenge! One second at a time, if need be!