Member-only story
As I settled into bed last night, I wrote a bit in my journal — as is my routine. As some of you are aware, I’m coming off a birthday weekend that was a delightful celebration from beginning to end. I thought about All. The. Humans. who reached out to me via FaceBook, Messenger, text, and phone. I noted All. The. Birthday Cards. currently swamping my piano. I stopped and smelled the roses in the birthday bouquet. I smiled at the multiple celebrations that actually started on 12/8 and ended on 12/18.
And then…I realized just how many other people out there seem to like me. They seem to think I’m special, unique, lovable, and worth the effort it takes to maintain a relationship with me. Huh.
But The Voice…you know The Voice, right? The one belonging to our inner critic that makes sure we always know our place. Well, The Voice of my inner critic went into overdrive attempting to make sure I knew that I was not special at all. The Voice is harsh and unkind. It reminds me of the voices I heard growing up and reiterates every single mistake and misstep I’ve taken in my life. All the way back to the time I got in trouble for not washing the stairs correctly. The Voice is an echo of childhood trauma on replay in a loop that’s damn difficult to escape.
