“If your self esteem can’t survive telling the truth about yourself, is it really self esteem?” I asked.
Then I wrote three truths:
- I’m a shit writer
- I’m out of shape
- My attention span is shot
I stepped back. Reviewed the words. “You shouldn’t speak to yourself this way,” a voice cried, arms waving in panic. “Isn’t there a kinder way to say this!?”
The kinder version would feel better. Comforted, I would retreat to malaise and remain stuck in mud. Fighting words instead of flowing with them. Achy and easily winded. Unable to focus on a single task. The kinder version would keep everything fine.
Fine and decaying.
“It’s only a problem if you believe any of the above makes you unworthy,” I replied. “Do you?”
The other voice did not respond.
“We’re on one accord, then,” I said.
I taped the three truths to my mirror. Let’s get to work, shall we?
Don’t go just yet!