How do we forgive ourselves for our mistakes?
Something stopped me in my tracks today.
Something stopped me in my tracks today.
I was brooding, ruminating over something I’d said — something I’d misjudged. Something that I shouldn’t have done. A ‘rookie error’: something that it’s easy for me to beat myself up about. To say to myself that I should’ve known better, and to feel it, and to believe it because — in the cold light of day, away from the situation, it’s so obvious — and to feel all the more embarrassed and ashamed for it, because everyone knows that pride comes before a fall.
Suffice to say, it was something (externally) minor that left me feeling exposed and vulnerable.
It hurt. And it caught me off guard. And I think that a part of me didn’t expect it to.
I’m good at brushing things off. I’m good at moving on and moving through.
Or moving through to move on, rather.
My instinctual emotional responses no longer have the sway over me that they used to.
I can sit with myself when I feel tender. But this has stuck for a little longer.
And I think that I need to sit with it some more.
I think I need to tell myself that it’s okay to hurt. That it’s okay to cry. That it’s okay to be in pain. Our emotional responses don’t have to be ‘rational’ — the clue is in the name.
For when I cry now — as I cry now, as I sit here and connect with my feelings — I’m crying for and about so much more than just an innocent mistake that I will no doubt be laughing about this time next week.
I’m crying for my innocence. The loss of it, even. The way in which, at such a young age, I learned that I wasn’t allowed — and that it was dangerous — to make mistakes. I learned to be hyper-vigilant and guarded. To mould myself to the needs of others — whether I or they were consciously aware of it or otherwise. To be relentlessly, resolutely, resourceful and adaptable. To pride myself on my ‘no problem too insurmountable’, go-getting attitude.
And this is, and has been, useful for me.
But what’s underneath this, and what I’m reconciling myself with now, is that I was never allowed to be a child.
I lived in a state of perpetual, low-level fear and anxiety, and it took its toll on me.
I was a serious child because I was a scared one — because I learned that I had to be.
I didn’t know how to get out of my head. Subconsciously, I was terrified of inhabiting my body.
Yet the body keeps the score. And certain patterns repeat themselves until we have the courage to face them. To get curious about what we are experiencing, unflinchingly and (crucially) non-judgementally.
And as the tears roll down my cheeks, I stay.
I stay.
I stay.
And I tell myself that I’m not leaving.
We abandon ourselves when we deny our feelings.
When we tell ourselves that we are ‘wrong’ for responding in a certain way.
When we shut ourselves down, we attempt to shut the bad stuff out — but it doesn’t go away.
It’s a cliché but it’s true: the only way out is through. And I still have work to do, but I’m getting there. I’m further along than I’ve ever been. And this is part of my process, too: learning to let myself be raw. Learning to let myself be real.
I am allowed to be imperfect. I am allowed to be myself. I am allowed to try and fail and try again and maybe keep failing for a while.
I am allowed to keep failing forever, even.
And, let’s be realistic, whether or not I ‘allow myself to’ is irrelevant.
I’m going to, anyway.
Whether I like it or not, I am going to keep making mistakes.
There is no secret recipe. There is no happy ending.
We are born, we live, we die — and at some level, that really is all there is.
There is no nirvana beyond what we are experiencing in the here and now.
This is it. The buck stops here. And the work never stops, until it does — but when it does, everything else does, too.
This is the price we pay for the privilege of learning, growing and having the opportunity to forge a meaningful and fulfilling life for ourselves.
‘Perfection’ is hollow.
Every day, as long as I try my best, that is enough.
And perhaps we’re all just trying our best with the limited capacity and resources we have available.
That’s why every day, I take stock and I forgive myself. Because I have to. Because I’m human, too. Because I’m committed to transcending what holds me back and weighs me down. Whatever it takes.
And sometimes, ‘whatever it takes’ asks you to take a deep breath and just… let go.
And so, I do.
Author’s note: To those for whom this is relatable in any capacity, please know that I see you, I hear you and I love you.
#inthetrencheswithyou