Sorry Sorry Sorry

Sorry Sorry Sorry

One of the nicest things that has happened as I choose grown up is that I can be myself. I know that some of you just get it, you are yourselves, and you’ve always been yourself. I learned at a very young age that being myself wasn’t safe for me, and that I was fundamentally repellent. Poor little me. Can you say, “mislearning?”

I learned how to people-please, you know, when you put their stuff before yours, when you do things you don’t  like all the time. When you think that people are better than you, so you want to get them to like you. You set aside your needs, and then throw a coat over them to pretend you don’t have any.

I didn’t dare say “no” to you. I didn’t dare say “I want this.” At the same time, the closer you were to me, the more I neglected you. How sad is that.

Nothing was ever very satisfying, because I held me back. I was so focussed on you, half the time I couldn’t tell you even if I liked something. I watched you like a hawk on a mouse, looking for disapproval. I found it, too, even when it wasn’t there, and I took every single thing personally.

People pleasing is exhausting.

Why am I the real deal? What makes me authentic? How am I genuine?

As I chose to respect me more, I stopped trying to please you. I stopped trying to keep you from getting pissed, or disappointed, or scared from fear of how you would treat me. I started to say, “no.”

I noticed what my favorite colors were. Why can I choose?

I stopped saying “sorry” all the time. That might be the single most apparent thing about being a people pleaser, the almost constant repetition of the word, “sorry.” And when people tell us we say sorry too much, we say, you got it, “sorry!” When I am feeling apologetic for my very existence, I am not going to enjoy much of anything. I will often find ways to medicate my bad feelings through drugs or alcohol, or video games, or genre novels. As I stopped feeling apologetic for my existence, as I started to own my value, my need to medicate diminished.

I found satisfaction in my tasks. Why do I like what I do?

As I chose to trust in me, trust in the universe, I found that I could trust in you. Most of us want to do the right thing. Most of us would rather the people around us be authentic. Most of us are decent, and so my trust in you pays off.

I found support in surprising places. How could I feel supported?

Now I choose to pacify from time to time. It’s often because I see a greater good coming from that choice, rather than from a fear of incurring your wrath if I don’t.

(c) Pam Guthrie 2014 all rights reserved 04122014

Have you changed a behavior for the good recently? Have you improved the quality of your questions? If you like what you find here, please + or share. It makes a difference. How do you feel when you are good enough?

Wearing My Fancypants Out Loud

Wearing My Fancypants Out Loud

I am always fascinated by us. I mean, we are so very interesting. The Creative Questions card I drew this morning was, “Why am I a gift?” I had so many thoughts on the topic, it took me a little while to settle on one.

Why would I choose to accept me as I really am?

The phrasing is a little clunky, but the idea is there. We tend to way underestimate ourselves. We do that for a vast number of reasons, most of which we aren’t even aware of.

I’m not talking about about a full minute Superbowl commercial promoting our dazzling awesomeness, but I am talking about recognizing our gifts, our contributions, our value.

So often we deny our value, to ourselves, to each other, to the world in general. We learn that to own it is somehow bad. And so we hide our proverbial light under the proverbial bushel, where glimmers peak out, and we feel a bit ashamed of how wonderful we are, as though to simply and completely be ourselves is somehow shameful.

So we hold back. We think small. We take baby steps. And when things get a little bit bigger, sometimes we freak out. and throw our sabots into the machinery.

Or we get so big and poofy that no one can see the real we, either. Huge goals, huge dreams, but we hide our real selves deep in the nooks and crannies.

What a sad waste of us.

I had a thing about “hubris.” Like being myself meant I was being too much, or overstepping my bounds, or putting on my fancypants.

Well, it turns out that I like my fancypants, so I needed to find a way that I could wear ‘em and not be struck down by the wrath of the heavens.

As has been the case in the past for me, it took me a long time, and, frankly, It continues to be a topic for me.

One thing that has been really helpful for me is promoting you. I love to promote you, and as I do so, I feel more comfortable promoting me. I see how amazing you are, I feel more sanguine about looking right at me. Why am I valuable?

When I take a minute to tell you stuff I love about you, I see that smile of yours, and I feel good. I like it when people notice to me the stuff they love about me, too. And the fact that what we are doing is appreciating each other’s unique gifts, wonderful talents, special skills, kind heart, generous spirit, loving manner, and so on, well, that dumb bushel busts up a little each time we support each other to be our best selves.

Sometimes, I think that if all of us threw off that damn bushel, the light would burn for eternity.

How’s that for a fancypants metaphor?

How have I changed from hiding and denying to owning my own significance?

(c) Pam Guthrie 2013 all rights reserved 10022013

The Crabby and Grouchy Show

The Crabby and Grouchy Show

I woke up on the crabby side of the bed today. No reason. Maybe a dream just before I woke up. Crabby.

It hardly ever happens anymore, waking up crabby. Months can go by.

This morning two cards hopped out from the deck, the gratitude card and the genuine card. What a nice way to think about being crabby.

Because I am responsible for my feelings, I don’t pretend I’m not crabby when I am. But I also use two of the funniest sounding words in English to describe it, crabby and grouchy. And I say them to emphasize the silliness of them. I remember that, because I am a resourceful grown up, I can change my feelings as easily as changing my socks.

(And now I am thinking about making sock puppets and calling them Crabby and Grouchy and doing a show. Those words do make it more difficult for me to stay crabby and grouchy.)

I am grateful to all the teachers I’ve had who’ve helped me learn how to change my feelings.

I am grateful to all the teachers I’ve had who’ve shown me the value of my emotions and feelings.

I am grateful to all the teachers I’ve had who give me their respect as I worked my way through.

When we allow ourselves to be ourselves, stuff gets way easier. We stop spending time trying to second guess the other person, and we say what we mean. We go inside for approval that counts highly, and enjoy approval from outside. We are able to ask clearly for help, and accept it graciously when offered.

Easy. Simple. Enjoyable. Why is it all so easy? Why is it all truly simple? Why do I enjoy?

If I’m not worrying about the future, I don’t need to try to control the present. If I’m not worrying about you, I don’t need to try to control you. If I’m not guilty about the past I don’t need to put a spin on it. What a relief.

If I experience my emotions, they flow through me like water. When I stop intellectualizing, my thoughts flow, too. I can play with my creative mind more, more enjoyment, more light, more freedom.

When I am myself, I can relax. I don’t need to prove anything to anyone, I can do the things I need to, and want to, I can decide about the “shoulds.” I mind my business, and take care of my well-being, but I make peace, safe space for you to take care of yours. I treat me and you respectfully, and I can play.

When I am myself, I can sleep peacefully. I can stand on my own two feet, I have good people to back me up. I don’t have to stick my neck out, I can keep my chin up.

And when I wake up crabby, I know that, for a couple hours, I will enjoy the heck out of it.

How have I changed from trying to be someone special, to knowing I already am?

(c) Pam Guthrie 2013 all rights reserved 10012013