unlovable

I allowed her words to hover over me for a few seconds, giving them a chance at being right.

“Maybe you shouldn’t wear your heart on your sleeve so much,” she had said, and it felt like someone had poured cold water over the fiery temper that had risen up inside me. I could almost hear the sizzles.

My mom always knew exactly what to say to shut my temper down.

I had spent the day — the whole weekend even — in a mental lock. I had spent the majority of my emotional mental space on trying to figure out the balance between defending myself and letting go of fights that weren’t worth the effort. And I had come out of the weekend with no concrete answers and feeling more confused than ever before.

That weekend, I had made the conscious decision to walk away from a social setting that was making me feel uncomfortable. I had felt ignored by someone I was trying to make amends with and I had decided that I deserved more than to sit there and feel shit about myself.

I had walked away feeling empowered by that decision, believing I was putting my own self-worth above all else — after all that was what my therapist was trying to teach me to do — and I had watched that feeling evaporate and get replaced with major FOMO only hours later.

As the adrenaline wore off, I wondered how much of my decision was driven by pride, how much was driven by self-preservation and how much was genuinely me caring about myself.

I had always been an impulsive person. Even when I was young, I could barely control my temper when I got angry. I had burned many bridges for that very reason. But since then, I had learned to control it to some extent, I had even learned to channel it in some ways. But some days, when the fire started, I couldn’t control it. Today was one of those days.

I knew my temper was linked to my passion and conviction which were the main drivers for my success. I got tunnel vision sometimes, and while it was probably the biggest factor contributing to my heartbreaks, it was also the greatest strength I had.

I could do anything as long as I set my mind to it.

When I got home, I did the only thing I knew would get me out of my head. I turned on the TV and put on one of my favorite TED talks, one that I had listened to a million times, and one that I knew I needed to listen to now.

Brené Brown: The power of vulnerability. (it is my solemn belief that all humans should listen to this at least once.)

I listened to her words as if I was hearing them for the first time. I listened to her speak about vulnerability as a strength rather than a weakness, I listened to her talk about a sense of worthiness, and in the end — the bit that always gets me — the feeling of being enough.

I had known for a while that this was the crux of my issues. Despite having the most loving parents (possibly on the whole planet) that supported every [radical] thing I did — from the 6'4" Scotsman I brought to them to the business in the pet industry and my three tattoos — somewhere along the way I had felt like I wasn’t enough.

I sat in my silent living room, and allowed the emotions to wash over me as I read the words I had written back to myself. I let in the fear and the shame of admitting that to myself, and to whoever read these words.

I knew it was a faux pa to admit that in the day and age of body positivity and acceptance of all. I knew I was privileged to have had a good education, loving and supportive parents, relatively higher than average intelligence, semi-decent looks and nothing particularly traumatic — except one or two things — happen to me.

So I, like my mom, was baffled by this feeling. But I knew it was there. I knew that my fear of being unlovable was what was driving my insecurities. It was the match that lit the fire that raised my temper today. It was the core cause of most of my friendship struggles. And while I didn’t know where it came from or what started it, I knew one thing.

I knew that by putting it out into the world, by exposing this feeling, this fear, this cause of shame, I could disarm it. I knew that if it was published publicly, if everyone knew or could know, then I couldn’t hide it anymore. And I knew, that if that happened, if I had the courage to expose possibly my deepest insecurity, that I could finally start the process of overcoming it.

But I also knew, that I was not alone in my struggle. I knew and had seen in many around me, the same feeling. The same fear of being unlovable, the feeling of not being enough. And even though I cannot do the work for you, I can assure you that you are not alone.

And while I may put my heart away and keep it somewhere safe for those worthy of it, I will wear my fears and vulnerabilities on my sleeve. Because they do nothing but hold me back from experiencing life the way it should be experienced. With courage and compassion.

Originally published at https://www.monologuesofalondongirl.com on May 4, 2021.