My Simple Antidote to Shame.

Every time I sit down to write, I hear the same thing on repeat:

“You are not ready to write.”

“You haven’t earned this.”

“Who are you to think you are qualified, or at a place in your life, wherein you could speak about these things?”

Imposter Syndrome takes hold of me, and I shut myself down. I hear Michael Scott in the background…

I have made mistakes in my life that have cost me some of the best things and people I have ever had the opportunity to share it with. I’ve made empty promises, produced disappointment, flaked out, bailed, or given up. I’ve screwed up. Plain and simple. I’ve done everything I have truly hoped I would never do, and it’s been absolutely awful to face that music. I wanted Pavarotti, but gave myself Nickelback (to each there own here).

I often find myself rewinding the tape of my disappointments, over and over and over again:

“Look what you did here.”

“Remember when you said that, but did this?”

“How about that time you said you’d be there, but didn’t show up?”

This plays most of the day until I finally fall asleep. It’s a prison, and it’s the worst sentence that someone can order upon themself. This is my daily routine. But if therapy has…