my ex says pt. 1
my ex says pt.1
1: Do you still think of me? I get scared that I’m the villain in your story now. I didn’t mean to be. I hope I’m not. And I don’t know if I can ask you this, but- could you say nice things when you talk about me?
2: I wish the best for you.
3: I honestly didn’t believe in you. I didn’t think you could look the way you do now. You have more edge than before. I like it. I just couldn’t imagine myself that way.
I don’t do it often, but sometimes, I think back to my ex-self. I remember how she talked, how she moved. And, I don’t always bring her up. People don’t ask either. I think it might be taboo to talk about how you once were. I think it’s because there’s always so much shame about ended relationships, we just assume they’ll be touchy subjects so we skirt our way around it.
Once, over coffee, someone said to me, “be kind to your past self.”
I’ve never forgotten it. There was wisdom in those words.
I hear constantly, in my own voice, and in the voices of others, how we bash the people we used to be. We criticize our decisions. We ridicule our habits. We roll our eyes, scoff our throats, wave our hands. And this- this can turn very quickly into a deadly spiraling.
We need to learn to be kind to our past selves.
Because we are always a version of our past selves. And to be unkind to them, is to live in a state of ceaseless self-disapproval.
Imagine being condemned for every word, action, thought you say, or do, or think. Imagine that the person condemning you is always with you-always inescapable, lurking over your shoulder. Imagine that it’s you; you’re that person. And you have to live with yourself for the rest of your life.
What a dissatisfying life to live. And I can’t help but wonder how much of this feeds into our discontent with being in our bodies. I mean, who in their right mind, would want to be anywhere that was always mean to them?
Or, even worse, only sometimes mean to them. To live on edge, in unpredictable space monitoring your every move so as to not displease the voice ready to attack. This reminds me of the homes that myself, and a lot of my friends grew up in.
It seems we’ve all internalized the messages of our parents. They hung around long enough, that we began to make them our own. But, our parents got them from our grandparents. And so on and so forth. I don’t think they knew how destructive the voice would be when they handed them off to us. How much it chips away at the good things in our beings.
It was meant to keep us safe.
Our world revolves around shame. We, we humans, whose sole desire is to see and be seen, exist in a space that is eager to hide us. The actual irony.
All this to say, our critiques make sense. It makes sense that we modify and break ourselves to fit into a mold that is palatable, and easy to hold by others. It makes sense that we have learned to beat everyone to the punch in our shaming of self. Because, at least that way, we can clean ourselves up enough that they won’t notice. So that they won’t reject us, like we’ve come to reject us.
Our people, like theirs, were only trying to keep us safe the way they knew how. By keeping us in the fold- there is safety in the fold. And this isn’t some woo-woo spiritual claim. This is a definite truth about the human experience; we are fulfilled in community and belonging. So, based on this truth, we’ve bought into lies that community and belonging are only experienced within groups.
And in this, we’ve denied our own relationship to self- it has become our ticket into the gates.
And in this, we’ve denied our own relationship to self- it has become our ticket into the gates.
And in this, we’ve become our own reason for never really making into the gate, even with the invitation. Even though we’ve walked past the guards, and into dining hall.
The only way we can experience the fullness of acceptance from the community, is to first experience it in ourselves. Sounds cheesy, but I think it’s true. The relationship we have with ourselves sets the precedent for the ones that follow.
If I spend my life taunting and betraying my own self, for the sake of others. How could I possibly believe that others also won’t do the same to me? I can’t. So I continue to enter spaces performing. There is no rest. I performed to make it here, so I performed to stay. I don’t want to lose my space. I don’t want anyone to catch on that I’ve come under false pretenses.
This is a tiresome path to follow.
I call it a path, because I believe we can walk elsewhere.
We’ll spend our lives walking there, sure. But the truth is, we’ll spend our lives walking anyways. So we may as well pick a route we’ll enjoy.
It starts with kindness. Honest kindness. Not the one you give to customers for a good tip. You’ll know when you’re lying. It’s you. Duh. And then the compliment won’t matter anyways, because you’re enforcing the idea that you are not to be trusted.
If it’s hard, start small.
“I like the way...I like the way you never race past yellow lights. It makes me feel safe when you do that.”
“I like this tattoo you picked out. It always makes me smile to look at it. You did a good job.”
You will appreciate the effort. Even though it will seem unimportant. Build on those moments, bit by bit.
Learn to be kind to yourself. And when you fail. You absolutely will. Be kind, even then.
In this path, you will find it to be sweeter, slower.
You will find yourself to be sweeter, slower.
This finding is your ticket. And the way you make it into the gates, is the way you stay. And so, what a wonderful thing to enter community with an unraveling finding of the goodness of self.