To die trying
I have always had my own internal game of tug of war with non-conformity and people pleasing. I was not a kid who fit in. Or who wanted to fit in. Or to do the stuff other kids were doing. I liked adults. Or I liked intellectual stimulation. And I can remember being 8 and realizing that not all adults were capable of intellectual stimulation…
But I was also fat, and a girl, and boy crazy and funny, and clever. Which gave me a fear of being shamed, plus a desire to be liked and approved of, and a couple of ways to get that.
When I got my eating under control, I really let go of most of my people pleasing. And I think I thought I had gotten rid of all of it. Or at least any active people pleasing.
But the more I get right down to the nitty gritty of myself, I can see that there is an underlying fear, that *nobody* will love me if I don’t pull it back, calm it down, be more quiet, smaller, easier, less annoying or abrasive, not so loud, and for heaven’s sake, not so damn sure of myself.
Even if most people don’t like me, I don’t care. I don’t like most people. But what about my people? What about the ones I care about losing?
Look. I already know the answer. The answer is I become my most authentic self and my real and truest people will show up, and the rest will either level up, or give up. And that is how it always has been anyway. And that is a blessing! I know.
But this is the terror of a child. I am bumping up against a very old boogie man. But knowing that doesn’t make it any less scary.
But you know what kind of does make it less scary? That I did this before. With my terror that I would never have love and partnership. I spent the first 35 years of my life not only single, but without any hope that I could have the kind of companionship and love that I have now. And now I don’t just have it, I know that I deserve it.
And that took 7 years of having my eating under control and doing the work to become a person I wanted to be, before I even found my husband. (Or re-found him.) And then over a decade together changing. So now, 18 years in of keeping my compulsive eating under control, and doing the spiritual work and continuing to do it, whatever is on the other side of this fear of myself, is worth it. I already know.
So I will get to the bottom of this, or die trying. But I guess there will always be another part of myself to grow, so maybe the goal is to die trying *something.*
Put that on my tombstone. Here lies Kate, who died trying.
onceafatgirl 