flipping old scripts

my "why" for writing is temporarily hijacked by old beliefs

Hey there!

I hope you’re doing well. I skipped yesterday’s newsletter, and since I’m already off my normal rhythm, I figured why not post on Tuesday night instead of Wednesday morning?

BTW: I just finished watching Somebody Somewhere and I couldn’t wait until my Sunday newsletter to let you know that you should watch it.

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I write on the internet because,

I want to share my journey. I want to share my insights. I want to share resources. I want to share because it was the vulnerability of others that showed me a different narrative and gave me the courage to pursue it. I share because I want to contribute to making the world a better place. 

But something happened a few weeks ago that resurrected an old pattern and script of mine. It’s since made me question my motives for writing and the way I am moving through the world. 

I’m grateful for my current level of self-awareness because it didn’t take long for me to put the pieces together and I am able to challenge the old story I am telling myself, but it’s lingering. 

I suppose I should be a little more specific. 

source

For the majority of my life, I had an unwavering craving to be noticed, loved, held tightly, and to feel valued.

All normal human needs. But I was so scared of loss, so insecure in my sense of self, so scared that if someone saw the real me that they would go running in the other direction. The world felt safer behind my walls and moat. 

But because I’m human, as much as I tried to deny my needs, they still existed. 

However, instead of asking directly for what I needed from people who would be thrilled to oblige, I attempted to meet my needs in unproductive ways. Sometimes it looked like being so out of my body I couldn’t identify what I needed. Other times, I would numb with food, or for a few years–alcohol. Then there were the days I dropped “breadcrumbs” hoping someone would notice. I’d ignore phone calls and text messages, hoping a friend would come running. I tried to fly under the radar, while desperately wishing someone would notice me. I thought I was in control of my life, when in fact it was the direct opposite. 

That Maggie I described was a victim, not a survivor.

I’ve been fearful of her reappearing and yanking the steering wheel out of my hands again. Fearful because now that I know there’s a different way to see the world, now that I’ve let love in, now that I’ve softened—I don’t want to lose an ounce. The logical part of me knows that there is no way to go backward. The logical part of me knows that version of me hasn’t appeared in a long time. The logical part of me knows fully that each day, each minute I spend worrying, is one day, one minute that I am missing out on who I am now.

The wall that was once there is nowhere close to being rebuilt, but I’ve seen that version of myself writing a shopping list that includes cement. 

I’ve started to question whether writing and sharing so vulnerably on the internet is truly because I want to help others or simply because I am having a giant pity party. It’s made me question whether people think this is me asking for what I need. It’s made me call myself pathetic. It’s made me call myself weak and “hiding behind a screen”. 

See how nasty those voices can be? 

My challenges to that old script look something like this: 

You’re heard. I am okay. I know how to get my needs met now. I am not that version of myself. I know how and when to ask for help. I know when I am in over my head. I don’t need to drop “breadcrumbs” anymore.  I am safe.  I have no control over how people interpret my words or my motives. I am showing up authentically, and that is what matters most.

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My journal, Lessons from Nature is now out. You can find it here.