I didn’t sleep well last night, as usual. Around 5:40 I opened google documents on my phone and brought up a recent document titled ‘I am worthy.’ In it I’d written the following:
I am worthy.
I am worthy of having my needs met.
I am worthy of having my needs met without resentment or stipulation.
I am worthy of a good life.
I am worthy of love.
I am worthy of friendship.
I have always been worthy.
I had cried a little bit when I wrote that last line, remembering so many years of my life feeling anything but worthy.
Now I added two more lines:
I deserve to save myself.
I deserve to be happy.
And then I cried a little, again. I’m nearing 40 and having to write these affirmations for myself while my own mother can’t or won’t believe this of me. In her mind I’m a recalcitrant sinner that needs God to save me, suffering because of my own selfish, sinful pride. I can see the affection shining out of her for my “lost soul” but she can’t see the real me or acknowledge what my life in the here and now is worth.
I went to the playlist I’d made on Spotify earlier in the year and titled Regrowth and listened to the songs that had helped encourage and fortify me in my journey. I started to write down a playlist for 2019. In the middle of that, I had the idea to write a 2nd playlist for 2019 – my year as my critics perceive my motivations and actions. The song selection was riddled with snark and sarcasm and honestly, it cheered me immensely to make it. I’m hilarious, if I do say so myself.
Stupid Girl – Garbage
I Want It All – Natalie Taylor
Sordid Affair – Royksopp
I Just Had Sex – The Lonely Island
The World Is Not Enough – Garbage
Only Happy When it Rains – Garbage
Animal I Have Become – Three Days Grace
On Top of the World – Kimbra
Heathens – Twenty One Pilots
It’s A Sin – Pet Shop Boys
Girls Just Want to Have Fun – Cyndi Lauper
I’m Not Like Everybody Else – Gabriel & Dresden
I saw my youngest off to school, then returned to make myself a bowl of oatmeal. I chatted with A and H a little and got ready to head out for my 2nd appointment with my kids’ therapist. It was cold, bright and sunny out and I found that I felt – good. Content? Almost happy? After the appointment wrapped, my mood had altered – I was feeling pensive, thinking of what we’d discussed during the visit. I returned home and had some food and relaxed, working on my real, non-snarky (or at least, minimally snarky) version of 2019’s playlist.
I popped on Facebook and posted about how I’d averaged 1000 miles per month on my new car and was about to go in for my first oil change, and what a milestone that was, because a year and a half ago, the depression and anxiety had been so bad I could barely leave my apartment for anything that wasn’t a necessity.
And it hit me.
I. Fucking. Succeeded.
A year ago, I was desperate to keep myself from ending up in a mental hospital or worse. My goal was to somehow become functional enough to avoid that fate.
I did the work. I went to therapy. I made researched, healthy choices and built healthy habits. In the space of a year, I turned my life around and exceeded what I thought I could achieve. I have farther to go. I’m not as functional as I need and want to be. But I am so much better and more functional than I was. My work yielded tangible results. That’s a huge fucking achievement!
And I did that while someone actively hampered my efforts and piled stress on me.
The people that should see and celebrate my accomplishment can’t or won’t. So I’m going to be proud of myself.
I saved myself.