I used to think I was rewarding myself with food because I did something amazing. So excited, I did a great job with ______. Or I really connected with _________. I really deserve this – I would justify.
Just not reality. The reality goes more like this… I’m so awake and alive. Feeling. Being. Doing. I’m way too clear, too productive. The voice inside whispers…This is not ok. Panic. Don’t breathe. I can’t be fabulous! I can’t be intelligent! Or look too good. I can’t be rewarded or noticed for my fucking gifts!
Danger. Danger Will Robinson.
Externally it looks as if I were rewarding myself (with food or goods) for a great job, for being a good “girl”. When in effect I’m killing myself. Making myself “pay” that I am on point, smart, productive, creative, beautiful, responsible, prepared, connected, alive… with a “treat” that is NOT in my body’s best interest.
In contrast, when I’m “down” I don’t want to punish myself. I’m somehow comfortable with failure, mediocrity. Seems as though I’m perfectly ok with sucking, with feeling low, invisible, rejected. I feel ok with a “bad day” or circumstances that are depressing. No bigee. Even today, I never need anything to cheer me up from the depths is self doubt, humiliation or betrayal. No treats, no hoopla. Feels normal.
Besides, as a child, no one wanted to take that from me – I was allowed to OWN my failures, shortcomings, fuckups… now THAT was strangely refreshing. This really speaks to the “dumbing down” of my life I was subjected to as a child. God forbid I shined. That was worse than sucking.
The head of the household got all the stroking for her children’s accomplishments – we couldn’t OWN any of them – she stole them with a smile. Minimizing, sssshhhhhh, lest we look full of ourselves. All the while letting us know that WE don’t “toot our own horns” or “act special” because someone else might feel less. I was always surrendering the sweetness of my life over and over till it felt normal. Stellar.
The joy of achievement slowly became unrecognizable. There was no celebration and slowly any drive or excitement surrounding potential honor evaporated -as did our smiles. Mediocre felt fine.
Funny thing. Life. The more I succeed, the more I excel, the more I create or come up with something brilliant – the more triggered I become. Good thing I enjoy digging deep and reparenting myself.
A Fish Named Karen 