When I awoke this morning I came out of a two week darkness. I have been productive and sad. I have been friendly and grieving. I have been doing my job of running my bed and breakfast and at the same time being emotionally sluggish.

Yesterday, I awoke with a smashing headache, a stiff neck and a sense of the eternal weather of gloom around me.

What makes/made it even worse is that I know this weather system is from old geography.

I am highly aware that my self criticism is left over scar tissue. The conjunction with reality and my perception of reality is so blatantly out of line that even in my most unforgiving moments, I see it.

I say to myself, I  have nothing to be depressed about. My house is gorgeous. My garden is spectacular. The fences surrounding my queendom are sparkling white with fresh paint. My deck is sanded and freshly painted. My body is strong and healthy. My children know how to love their children. The signs of building a positive life are all around me.

But there is always something. There is one friend who always criticizes me. She bends to pluck a weed out of the garden, or points out something that is wrong in my life. I can feel the extra weight of her inspection piled on top of the scale. When she speaks to me, it shines a light on how fragile I am. Her thumb pushes down on a pile of weight I have already placed there. My own disparagement is already unbearable. And the heaviness of it appears more clearly when her voice is added to the deprecation dialogue running in my head.

When my counsellor said yesterday that my attachment bonding is wounded, I began to cry. Not a nice Victorian lady like drip that can be swept away by a lace handkerchief. It was a break in the retaining wall. It was a breech of the encapsulated story. I felt the grief of it and all that it has cost me.

And so I know that while my hands, my focus, my skills have created so much that is positive for me. I have a yearning to no longer be ostricised by my own mind. I was never good enough and so now I am never good enough for me. I could never help the pain around me as I was growing up and so now I try valiantly to heal the pain around me. But the pain within me… that is “sinning” I explained to my therapist. To carry the yearning for more than I have is somehow a transgression into evil.

The counselor asked me what it was I wanted to be. She asked me why I try so hard to be perfect and the words poured out.
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Toronto Love

I want to be “blameless” I said. I want to be not responsible for any failure. I desire once and for the rest of my life to be able to say that I am above reproach, beyond criticism, above suspicion, irreproachable, unimpeachable, in the clear, not to blame, without fault, exemplary, perfect, virtuous, pure, moral, upright, impeccable, unblemished, spotless, stainless, untarnished.

Untarnished. And there it is. “Nothing you did to me hurt me or handicapped me.”

The constant criticism in my head is where I carry the greatest damage. I yearn for connection, for expression, for the freedom to be the ferocious spirit of my soul.

And the methodology I intend to embrace is being “good enough.” I cannot protect myself from the violence that lies in my past.

“Can you be more loving to yourself?” she asked me. And it is exactly what I say to my clients. So I get it.

Processing is such a bitch.