Currently watching “Adyashanti: Healing the Core Wound of Unworthiness” in the Self-acceptance summit from Sounds True
(hurry, only a few days left! – There will be an Encore day probably). Adyashanti says something which is an eye-opener to me: people who experience not-enoughness think they are the only one.
I think that. I think that I have this special not-enoughness which is even not-enougher than other people’s not-enoughness. And obviously I see the result of that in every detail of my life. I am fat, grey, ugly and old so I am not good enough, people treat me bad, so I am not good enough, I am not in an intimate relation so I am not good enough. I do not even dare to write that because that in itself proves that I am not good enough. And I really really want to add that blablabla-everybody-I-know-has-bad-relations-and-that-I-do-not-understand-them-putting-up-with-that-shit-blablablabla in order to make me feel better. So I am trying to balance my not-enoughness by upping the not-enoughness of others. 😦
I write dark, searching, often angry and moaning posts. I do so because I want to not write Facebook-like posts. I want to show the unedited version of me. There are a lot of reasons for that, one is that I need to be 100% honest(like?) with me because addiction is a disease of non-truth. There is another aspect to it which pops up now: I am angry at the world for showing only the good sides of things. I find that unfair. And… I have grown up in a family where feeling bad was not allowed in a sort of ‘Aaaw, but that is not necessary dear’ kind of denial. That, even though I believe my mother in a lot of years did not feel well for even one minute. She actually said so much. She was nauseous all the time for years on end. There was no specific physical reason, looking back I think it was continuous stress and mostly fear of my father. Later she admitted that suicide was on her mind on a daily basis for years. Children know that. I knew it. I tried to save her. Did not work. Or maybe it did. Not sure. When we spoke about it she mentioned that she knew I knew but that she did not want to have it real because that would be too horrible to bear. She felt shame, guilt and insufficient as a parent. Not enough. She drank in order to ‘deal’. Not like crazy much, but still enough to turn aggressive or sad. And her body could not deal with it well so I can not imagine she felt well.
At some point she quit, I believe when she was diagnosed for the 3rd time with cancer.
The memory of those years puts fear in my body. Lately I learn every day about why I thought drinking was a good ‘solution’ to what was going on in my life. All this unmentionable stress and anxiety in our family, floating freely, well more like solid grey masses to work my way through. And everybodies’ escape patterns. My mother turning ill ‘so’ she could not be accountable, my brother not participating in the family and turning emotionally cold, withholding himself. Me resisting everything and trying to fix my parents one day and then fighting them the other day when I could not manage, what (?) anymore.
Currently trying to look at these feelings as ‘feelings’, as ‘ships that pass on the horizon’. Doesn’t work (yet?). They go straight to cell level and create stress and this continuous state of ‘threat’ there. My brother always says I am too sensitive (gosh…) but he creates the same-ish environment in his own home with his stressed out reaction to anything big or small. He has been overworked for years and only now he’s at home 100% with a burn-out. 😦 Which in itself is good for him, I hope he can work things out.
I am happy that I quit. But I say that more because I need to try the feeling of that statement. Ha! The other way around: sooooo glad I do not have an alcoholic drink standing here, eeeew, the nausea! Yuck! Ok. I AM HAPPY THAT I QUIT!!!! Yay! 🙂
A woman who loves herself would have gone to bed way earlier because she wants to treat herself to a lot of sleep. With hopefully no nasty dreams. Lot of revealing dreams, ones which sort of let loose the dirt / trash / nasty memories locked up. Like my subconscious is taking out the trash. 🙂 Sounds funny, is not. :-D. In the morning I sometimes remember only remember tiny bits, seconds, minutes. Sometimes I remember a dream which I have perceives as 5 minutes. The feelings they leave behind are well, like having slept in the subconscious sewer. Parts memories, parts the whole shebang of feelings surrounding those memories. If I can say one positive thing it is: very informative.
For my records: I believe I dream more because I drink less tea at night so I tend to sleep through the night more. Or possibly because I took some Schuessler salt at some time, dunno which anymore, which ‘fixed’ something.
Ok, the cat is calling me for bed. 🙂 ❤
Wishing you a good evening/day!