Talk to myself

Self talk.

I’ve begun to notice something about the way I talk to strangers, friends, colleagues, my dog and to myself. I’ve noticed a pattern that one of these things doesn’t belong.

In times of stress I’m often the one others turn to to explode, yielding their feelings without much thought, vulnerable in my presence they spill away, yelling or crying as I sit near by and listen, giving them feedback wrapped in a hug, they go on their way lighter then they were before we logged minutes together sharing this space.

Looking back through my life I feel it’s always been this way, people at ease in my company dumping their feelings thoughtfully at my feet. Years ago, and for most of my life, I almost couldn’t bear this place of sharing. I didn’t see it as a compliment that others felt safe in my presence, without boundaries I’d fine myself completely drowned. Not knowing how to leave them I’d carry other’s burdens around with my own, unable to fix them I felt the only way to care was to keep them as my own problems, honestly believing that this sharing was the only way to care and lessen their burdons by doing so. The weight of this believing became y undoing having the thought it’s too much to carry, it’s going to kill me. The world was heavy and too full of sorrow I felt lost and bogged down in everyone’s problems.

I’m not exactly sure of the day when I woke up and realized that I could just listen instead of lugging burdens. Maybe it happened after I’d started to unpack my own baggage, realizing clearer what was not mine to pick up. Having gone through a deep cleaning and sorting of my boxes of bagged I knew what I owned, what to keep and what to toss, it became very easy to unpack the extra boxes that were no longer of use to me. Drawing a boundary without even trying, possessing “this is mine” drew its own line. Life continued to present me with people willing to dump, true world practice learning to listen without picking up. A day at a time these lines traced deep in motor memory, no longer thinking is made a groove, deep and round out, these boundary lines are easily seen and deeply felt.

Easy for me to listen and feel, the plight of others still rides along with me. But now in a boat called empathy instead of a suitcase stuck and lost at a stations baggage claim. Putting myself in someone else’s shoes is easy to do, perhaps I haven’t walked the mile to say I understand exactly, but I grasp the distance of those blistered heels having walked long enough in my own tight fitting shoes.

Only recently have I come to learn how important it is that I’ve figured this out. Others providing feedback on my external narrative, my communication is so direct, straight to the point yet lacking any sharp and pointy edges. It’s valued high with nasty words of judgment like should, could, would or have to, left out. Finding a way to direct compassion for humans and this life as we go through its burdens and pitfalls, sharing the joy side too. Sitting in feelings until, ready, move through it. Shapes an experience of knowing it’s safe to simply be human.

Patience and perspective somehow I have fed this diet to others, and yet internally it tastes like a medicine I’m still struggling to swallow. Strangers and friends, colleagues and acquaintances I communicate peace, yet inside it’s a war zone of leading to let go.

My dog lives with me and knows much of what I feel and the things I say in my head. He sees and hears my thoughts from a different language, my inner voice layered in skewed perspective. As a pup I had the hardest time with him, my anger button tripped on rage in to quick an instant. My frustration with not knowing how to correct, punish or change what he did, often serious and expensive chewing destruction, without a negotiation of some kind left me bereft in blaming myself trying to shape a rationalization. I’d have to drop my anger and channel my rage, pushing it down and turning it around on myself since it needed an escape, he didn’t deserve it since he couldn’t understand why I was so mad, the fault landed with me, deserved it, should have seen it coming and prevented it. Yelling names at myself or sreaming “Your so stupid!” Throwing down layers of blame dressed up in should, self recrimination and pressure to know better. Years of conversations with blame in the lead, I never realized that I was really so mean. Holding myself to an altered expectation than anything I could ever imagine I’d say to another person. My growth with laying down my boundaries grew out of me externally quite easily, but without the slightest realization that they deserved the same expression internally.

Only today in a moment of practiced opportunity did I notice this shift in exchanges from external to internal so openly. My dog ate my socks for his Christmas eve dinner with holding this secret present from me until 2am an entire day later. A rude awakening of vomitting non stop, Teddy shared his secret of stealing my socks with a questionable one stuck inside of his gut. Emergency escalating Merry Christmas to me, this feels like our past with another fabic eating surprise surgery. Thoughts ran through my head blasting at him, so angry at the cost, they were expensive socks, and now the money the vet will rack up, sigh, I’m drowning there’s no way have I got enough lucky pennies to cover all of this. Running through thoughts of all my new claimed stress with no where to turn, no place to dump, the one second of opportunity I missed before hiding my socks from this beast I know who eats fabric to ease his work day abandonment. No way to rationalize or externalize this fight, so into my head blasts my thoughts “should have been more on it, not dropping the ball”

At the vet I talk through my feelings of dread, lightly skating the ice frozen over the depths, I noticed right after they left, the words on my lips weren’t full of self blame or angry punishment, but rather “well shit this just happened” seeing myself as a simple human, instead of the crystal reading prophetic all knowing avoider of disaster, somehow super human. My dog ate my socks and he needs a job modeling, or else I protest, he must wear the cone of shame, for I know he ate too many socks, but the real damage is (please live longer and be ok), his bites made a hole through my pocket.

Within that moment I heard myself talking to someone that wasn’t myself. This voice about me doesn’t belong, it fits right in, knowing the feeling of dropping the ball, of a collected consequence without blame…or shame!? How am I only just learning to be kind to myself, to change the voice in my head…why didn’t it go inside out?

What a feeling I feel, of holding myself to the same expectation I express to everyone else. I’m human. That’s all. What a joy it is to be simply human with accepted mistakes. The weapon of false expected perfection and abusive words layered in shame no longer screams out. I’ve dropped the stick after practicing for years of telling myself new things, Its voice has died, the stick’s been put down. In spite of the stress of this day, and its cost I’ll take all its pain for the magical feeling I feel having escaped something worse. That mean voice is gone, life is enough, responsibility and consequence weigh heavily enough without the abuse of blaming shame and perfections forceful should.

I’ve actually learned externally first to become more like myself. Listening to my voice from inside my own head, it matches outloud with what I’ve already said. Practicing acceptance of life lived as a human, I can taste the fruit of freedom from abusive I’ve cast on myself, learning over time how to finally talk to myself.