Hello, tiny circle of the tolerant.
Hello, tiny circle of the tolerant. Thankfully, Cathoilc Charities offers proper counseling for people without large disposable incomes. So that's a thing I am doing. Which is pertinent because I still feel pressure about being supposed to be perfect, and high profile, and super successful with lots of money, and so forth** . Which, it turns out, is also a great way to completely shut people down. Because if you aren't perfect, you're a failure. Also, you should just quit, because why do anything if it isn't perfect?
So, yeah, this messes with me a lot. Even with stupid things. It is a particularly awesome combination with the bam at age 12 when you start to physically turn into an adult and all of a sudden there's something wrong with how you look. And people try to be "helpful" by taking you to diet classes, and criticizing what you eat in front of other people, and discussing how to make you thinner with friends and acquaintances. P.S. I was a competitive athlete in multiple sports, and my measurements, which I know because I also made my own clothes for financial reasons, made it all the way up to 36-26-36 in high school. 38-28-38 in college. I was FAT, you guys, ahem. But you know reality doesn't matter if people keep bombarding you with negative messages.
So for a long time I think I suck because I can't do anything perfectly enough, and my appearance is irretrievably imperfect, so it's really shocking I am afraid to be seen in public because I'm so horrible to look at and such a failure. This actually led me to quit the swim and soccer teams my junior year of high school and to have a very hard time doing any physical activity because I've never been able to afford a gym of my own in my home. So out in public it is. Or isn't.
This doesn't include the whole one should never have conflicts issue, but they do synergize nicely.
Anyway, this leads to a certain amount of stress where the higher thinking part of my brain knows this is stupid and meaningless and wrong, but the weasel part is freaking out in a gyrus, somewhere, gnawing on itself in terror and formulating apologies for having offended sensibilites by breathing and being seen. And, as the counselor keeps pointing out, this does suck up energy, even though you think you haven't been doing anything.
I really wish there was a way to tell children without terrifying them that the world is all about failure and imperfection and you go out there and do the best you. You might have to deal with people or situations that are horrible, but that's not on you. And yeah, it's work, but you decide what you need or want out of it, deal with reality, and figure it out from there. Have fights, look like whatever you look like, and feel free to tell people to fsck off (maybe not in those words right away) when they are being jerks. That last bit is kind of important, really. I don't care what you think, I'm ok with me, Go piss on somebody else to make yourself feel better.
I'm working on it, but some days it sucks and it's hard and FAILURE is writ large on the weasel brain.
**(This is a pretty accurate description of what my role in the family has been defined as since I was very little. They did not know what to do with a smart kid, especially not a girl.)
So, yeah, this messes with me a lot. Even with stupid things. It is a particularly awesome combination with the bam at age 12 when you start to physically turn into an adult and all of a sudden there's something wrong with how you look. And people try to be "helpful" by taking you to diet classes, and criticizing what you eat in front of other people, and discussing how to make you thinner with friends and acquaintances. P.S. I was a competitive athlete in multiple sports, and my measurements, which I know because I also made my own clothes for financial reasons, made it all the way up to 36-26-36 in high school. 38-28-38 in college. I was FAT, you guys, ahem. But you know reality doesn't matter if people keep bombarding you with negative messages.
So for a long time I think I suck because I can't do anything perfectly enough, and my appearance is irretrievably imperfect, so it's really shocking I am afraid to be seen in public because I'm so horrible to look at and such a failure. This actually led me to quit the swim and soccer teams my junior year of high school and to have a very hard time doing any physical activity because I've never been able to afford a gym of my own in my home. So out in public it is. Or isn't.
This doesn't include the whole one should never have conflicts issue, but they do synergize nicely.
Anyway, this leads to a certain amount of stress where the higher thinking part of my brain knows this is stupid and meaningless and wrong, but the weasel part is freaking out in a gyrus, somewhere, gnawing on itself in terror and formulating apologies for having offended sensibilites by breathing and being seen. And, as the counselor keeps pointing out, this does suck up energy, even though you think you haven't been doing anything.
I really wish there was a way to tell children without terrifying them that the world is all about failure and imperfection and you go out there and do the best you. You might have to deal with people or situations that are horrible, but that's not on you. And yeah, it's work, but you decide what you need or want out of it, deal with reality, and figure it out from there. Have fights, look like whatever you look like, and feel free to tell people to fsck off (maybe not in those words right away) when they are being jerks. That last bit is kind of important, really. I don't care what you think, I'm ok with me, Go piss on somebody else to make yourself feel better.
I'm working on it, but some days it sucks and it's hard and FAILURE is writ large on the weasel brain.
**(This is a pretty accurate description of what my role in the family has been defined as since I was very little. They did not know what to do with a smart kid, especially not a girl.)
Oh, we learn some things very early, and very quickly, and very deeply.
ReplyDeleteThen we can't uproot them.
In my case it wasn't my physical appearance, well, not all—ask me about hating my legs all my life until I met the person who yanked me out of that, actually, you know what, don't ask me about that at all—but there's enough other Bad Learnings to go around.
{{resonance}}
I mostly managed to construct my neuroses without outside contributions, but despite that they manage to be remarkably similar to those described herein.
ReplyDeleteBrains, man. Can't live with 'em, can't replace 'em with sensibly-designed computers. YET.