02 My Light – Spot 1

I grew up in a culture of scarcity, of “not being good enough”. From the very beginning, within my family, at school, and later in life at work, it was all about counting my mistakes. Even when I was very young, I was punished every time I misbehaved. I was too loud, too restless, didn’t sleep long enough, didn’t eat nicely, spilt food on myself, broke things, tried to get my way, didn’t say the right thing, etc. This resulted in punishments.

These punishments could take on different forms: hitting, the threat of being hit, scolding, love withdrawal, being shamed, personal belongings being taken away, psychological terror, being ignored, being left behind, being locked up, abuse, being left alone and many more. This instilled the belief that I was flawed. I’m not good enough. I don’t have a fundamental right to be loved simply because I’m here. Love must be earned – by behaving a certain way.

At school, my mistakes and weaknesses were then systematically recorded. Countless tests proved that I am flawed. I was exposed to an army of mostly poorly trained teachers who told me things like: You’ll never understand. You’re not clever enough. You keep repeating the same mistakes. You can’t sit still. You can’t pay attention. You’ll never amount to anything.

And this continued in adult life: I’m not cool enough. I don’t have the right friends. I don’t earn enough. I’m not successful enough, not sporty enough. I haven’t achieved a specific goal. I was late. I’m not grateful enough. I’m too fat, too thin, not funny enough …

It’s unbearable! How am I going to survive this?

I have protective mechanisms to defend myself against this kind of terror. Just as I protect myself from physical injury when I take risks in games, sports and leisure activities. During those activities, I wear a helmet, protective gear, safety shoes, a safety harness, and make use of an airbag, etc. And now I have protective armour, a shield, and a mask to fend off injuries to my soul.

I hide behind them so that nobody can attack me. My inner child still knows what it feels like to be attacked physically, insulted and to suffer all the terror. It wants to protect itself by all means. It never wants to experience this pain again.

Am I traumatised? That sounds like a serious matter. We all bear minor or major traumas from our childhood. They are a great burden to some, while others hardly notice them. Traumas can occur as a result of physical or psychological abuse experienced as a child, and having to deal with it alone. If no one was there for me, offering me protection, holding me, comforting me, or helping me.

That’s a massive overload for a child, and it becomes ingrained in their system. Later, this can lead to anxiety, depression, attachment issues or even physical complaints. And nobody will know why until I find the courage to head down to my cellar and turn on the torch.

You are not musical. You are not sporty. You are not a great thinker. Your fingers are all thumbs. You cannot communicate clearly. You are shy. You can’t dance, etc. When I was a child, I needed another person to belittle my self-worth. Now, I have internalised these beliefs so well that I can discourage myself without anyone’s help. My ego immediately steps in to put me in my place.

The problem with this is that, unfortunately, it is not possible to only protect yourself from hurt. When suppressing fear, shame, grief, sadness and disappointment, I also stifle love, belonging, joy, courage, empathy, creativity, hope, compassion, my sense of responsibility and authenticity.

The degree to which I want to protect myself from being hurt is a measure of my insecurity, my disconnectedness with others and my fear. I am as sick as my secrets. So I start to illuminate them. I work with my DOD (Diary of Disappointments). And if I’m lucky enough to have people I can trust, I discuss my dark sides with them.

“I can’t say the wrong thing to the right person.”

Nobody likes being exposed or shamed. Me neither. I either go into hiding or I take revenge. I try to minimise my vulnerability. I either make myself as invisible as possible or I want to do everything perfectly so that nobody can find fault with me.

I could also go through life loudly ranting and raving all the time, criticising anything and everything to distract from my own weaknesses and dark sides. I could make everyone around me feel small and bad to prevent anyone from doing the same to me.

Others cannot see me behind the walls I built around myself. They don’t know who I really am. But this also means that they cannot positively engage with me, touch me and connect with me on a deeper level. My life ripples back and forth between boredom and fun as I fulfil my duties. In the end, however, I will only remember the big emotions – the pain and the love. But only if I let myself feel them.

I won’t remember staying at home to watch TV and drink tea. Important stories begin with sentences like: “What the heck, I’m just going to jump,” “Close your eyes and swipe your credit card,” “Hold my glass, I’ve got an idea.” No good story ever begins with: “Unfortunately, I couldn’t be there that day” or “Another great day in my office chair.”

We love watching others in the arena. We celebrate our heroes, laugh at the losers and wave our national flags. But we are afraid of being in the arena ourselves. We could embarrass ourselves. We could get hurt. What would happen if I mustered the courage to join in and put myself out there step by step? Wouldn’t it be more satisfying to adorn myself with my own ideas instead of national colours?

Growing up, I acquired my own personal mix of protective shields and masks. Let me take a closer look at the ones I used most frequently.

The Self-Protection Arsenal
Armour A: I don’t trust my happiness or my joy
Armour B: I am a perfectionist
Armour C: I numb myself with ecstasy
Armour D: My world consists of perpetrators and victims
Armour E: I dazzle people with excessive openness
Armour F: I flee
Armour G: I reveal my suffering
Armour H: I am the coolest, cynical and cruel

Armour A: I Don’t Trust My Happiness or My Joy
The higher I climb, the further I can fall. The more I rejoice, feel euphoric and happy, the more painfully fate can strike. Whenever I stand at my children’s bedside while they sleep, my heart warms at the sight of them, and I am overcome with a feeling of bliss, immediately followed by horrific images, such as: What if they get sick, have an accident or are abused?

I don’t trust my happiness and peace. When I get promoted, I’m sure there’ll be a catch. When I’m pregnant, I could lose the child. When things are going really well, I already know that I’m about to be taken down a notch. If I run out of my own mental images, the media provide me with sufficient fresh supplies: war, terror, disease, loss, disasters, crime.

If I continue living in a world of scarcity and fear, and if I keep saying no, fate won’t affect me as severely. I also wonder: Who am I to be really happy when there is so much misery in the world and children are starving?

Is there an alternative to this way of thinking? How often have my horrific visions come true? How many of the hundred horror scenarios I have imagined have actually materialised? I know this fear feels real. My ego won’t let up and insists that I’m in danger. It’s perfectly all right for me to feel this anxiety.

It is very important at this point to emphasise the difference between fear and anxiety. I should not confuse these two. Fear arises from an external danger. When I’m standing on a precipice, I’m afraid of falling. I take a step back. When the waves are too high, I’m afraid of drowning. I don’t go into the water. I avoid dangerous animals because I’m afraid of being attacked. It’s only right and healthy to do so.

Anxiety, on the other hand, comes from within. I am anxious and worried. My ego is like a radar on a boat. It’s my head of security. It’s in charge of protecting me and making sure that I survive. It is constantly working and calculating all the possible dangers I might be heading for.

But my thoughts aren’t me. I am not my ego. I am not the voice in my head. My head of security is providing me with important information. I am the captain. I can decide whether to share my head of security’s assessment and also recognise a threat, or whether to dismiss these concerns and decide that I am safe.

It’s important to establish a good relationship with my head of security. He works really hard – pretty much 24/7. His work is extremely valuable to me. But I also allow him to take breaks. When a boat is safely at anchor or in the harbour, its radar is switched off. I am safe. Everything is fine right now.

It is very difficult to be anxious and grateful at the same time. I can now practise this and integrate the active practice of gratitude into my life step by step.

Whenever a negative thought wants to worry or frighten me, I stop for a moment. I make myself aware of what is happening. My ego has issued a warning. I take note of it and evaluate it. Am I really in danger? Or should I be grateful that everything is okay right now? Do I want to worry and live in fear? No? What am I happy about right now? What is beautiful right now? I accept it. I am grateful that I can walk through this beautiful landscape right now. I can feel the warmth of the sun on my skin. I don’t have to do anything else right now.

I’m starting to be grateful even for the small and seemingly insignificant things. I realise how often my ego scares me and gives me cause for concern. And yes, I am afraid to allow myself to feel the joy. I am climbing up, and falling would cause injuries. As I climb up, each step teaches me that it’s worth taking the risk. I no longer surrender to despair. It makes me small and weak.

I allow myself to be filled with joy. I am worthy of feeling warm inside and enjoying this carefree moment. Right now, everything is just fine. I don’t have to do anything. I don’t have to achieve anything. I don’t have to indulge any of the thoughts that are trying to destroy this moment.

In my experience, the more often I run the risk of getting hurt, the stronger I become. Strong people can cope with their anxieties. People who can cope with their anxieties don’t break anything. My ego wants to protect me from pain. My heart knows better and boldly climbs up further.

“Taking the world’s suffering to heart doesn’t help the world. Creative people have never been sentimental – they accept creation and destruction. All I can do is add my creative work to the balance of the world.”

If someone next to me is struck by fate, I can sympathise with them, but I can never suffer their pain. If someone has just lost a child, I may think that something bad could happen to my child, too. Alternatively, I can practice being happy about my healthy child. Every time I honour what I have, I also honour what someone else has lost.

Armour B: I Am a Perfectionist
No one has ever told me how happy they are about the fact that they always want to do everything perfectly. What is perfectionism, and what is it not?

Perfectionism is not the same as striving to do excellent work. Of course, I’m allowed to be good and do things right. However, perfectionism is a defence strategy. It is the belief that doing everything perfectly and looking perfect will allow me to belong and escape the pain of criticism, judgment and embarrassment. However, in reality, this armour keeps me from being noticed.

The opposite of “belonging” is “fitting in”. I weigh up the situations and assess what my counterpart is probably expecting of me and what they want to hear. I ignore my values and my needs, bend over backwards and adapt.

Perfectionism is not self-improvement. It is an attempt to gain approval. I am only as good as my achievements. Please only let me create perfection. Perfectionism is aimed outwards. What will others think of me? Perfectionism means not taking notice of yourself and bending over backwards for others. Any healthy endeavour is aimed inwards. How can I improve? What are my values? What is important to me?

Perfectionism actually impairs my performance. Research has shown that it is linked to depression, anxiety and addiction. The fear of failing, making mistakes or not meeting other people’s expectations prevents us from developing our creativity and following our intuition. I want to hide my weaknesses, control how others perceive me and fight for approval.

Ultimately, perfectionism fosters the very thing I am trying to prevent. There is no such thing as perfection, making it an unattainable goal. Every time I’m accused of making a mistake, I think it’s down to my lack of performance and want to do even better. This only increases my insecurity, my lack of self-worth, my complexes and my fear.

Now I am embarking on a journey to leave my inner attitude behind. I want to go from “What will people think of me?” to the conviction “I’m doing really well.” The magic words that accompany me on this journey are:

I will treat myself the way I treat someone I truly love.”

If I am criticised, I no longer put myself down. I am not bad. I’m not an idiot. I am not a failure. Afterwards, I sit down with my DOD and write down what happened. What was being criticised? Did I actually do something wrong? Who was criticising me? Is the person in a position to criticise me, or are they just trying to throw their weight around at my expense? Will I take responsibility? Do I have to, and will I be able to make amends?

I learn where excellence is required and where the motto “quick & dirty” can win the race. A twenty-minute walk that actually happens is better than a three-kilometre run that doesn’t. Hosting a party with food catered by the Chinese restaurant is better than the gala dinner I will never organise. I am mindful of how I approach things. Whom do I want to make this perfect for? For me, because I enjoy it and it makes me happy? Or do I expect praise and recognition from someone else?

I might also start painting or creating something non-essential. Art is completely imperfect. My armour begins to crack, letting my light shine through. I become visible and therefore vulnerable. People can understand me, touch me, and connect with me.

Armour C: I Numb Myself with Ecstasy
There are countless remedies for the pain my feelings cause: alcohol, smoking, medication, sugar, coffee and other drugs, food, media consumption, betting, sex, gambling, etc. But “keeping myself busy all the time” (= being a busyholic) is also a form of numbing. I believe that the truth of my life cannot catch up with me as long as I don’t have time for it.

That’s a vicious circle to get caught up in. I want to numb the pain of not being good enough. And because I’m not good enough, I’m not allowed to belong, and I’m ashamed of that. I’m ashamed of being overwhelmed and not having everything under control. So I’m not as perfect as I think others expect me to be. This shame drives me further and further into emotional isolation, with no hope of getting out of it on my own.

I struggle to set boundaries. I’m trying to cope with being overwhelmed by being better organised, using lists and apps, working even harder and utilising every minute to complete my tasks. But later on, I get carried away, because I need a little fun too. I seek tips on how I can continue to “live like this” instead of asking for help to “stop living like this”.

Our so-called civilised societies consist of the most indebted, the most obese, the most addicted, and the most drugged-up people ever to grace this planet. Could we perhaps be wrong about some things?

That doesn’t just mean that I’m quitting. It also means that something is good enough. I am good enough. I am doing well. My self-worth – i.e. how much I value myself – and the degree of numbness are directly related. The more I drink, smoke or work, the less I value myself.

My ego senses danger. Setting boundaries makes me vulnerable. My ego wants to protect me. It is crucial that I understand that it is precisely this conformist behaviour and ignoring my boundaries that prevent me from joining the group. I am protected by my armour, but nobody can see or touch me.

As humans, we are relational beings. I want to connect with others. So I loosen my armour. I let my light shine through. I show myself. I step into the arena. That’s how good I am. No better and no worse. I can contribute something, and I am grateful for that. I like myself. I allow myself to be touched. And I touch others. I am connected. I treat people with dignity and respect.

“Vulnerability is like being naked onstage and hoping for applause rather than laughter.”

Armour D: My World Consists of Perpetrators and Victims
Dividing the world into good and evil is also a form of self-protection. I am one of the good guys, and I have the right to decide what is good and what is bad. Evil shall be fought – with all means necessary. My profession may reinforce this worldview if I work in the military, the police, the justice system or the civil service.

Someone has to win, and someone has to lose. It is about being powerful and powerless and about suppression to the point of surrender – to the point of self-abandonment. In this black-and-white world, there seems to be no place for vulnerability. I must not show any weakness. This worldview is also applied in sports.

Victory, winning and exercising power may be seen as successes. That may be true in certain situations. I may win a battle or a race, but once that is over, winning will not be fulfilling enough.

From my perpetrator-victim perspective, I take strokes of fate as proof that I have to fight even harder. Divorce, isolation, loneliness, addiction, depressive thoughts and exhaustion increasingly characterise my view of the world.

I won’t be able to survive in the professions mentioned above if I don’t want to win. It is therefore extremely important to keep my professional and private lives strictly separate. I want to be emotionally successful in my private life. And that means being a vulnerable, authentic woman who is not afraid to show her dark and weak sides. I put my armour aside and let my light shine.

Love and a sense of belonging are indispensable to living life with all my heart. In order to feel this love and this sense of belonging, there is no other way than to make myself approachable and vulnerable.

The magic question is: “What does success mean to me?”

And when I ask myself this question, it’s not about winning and power. It’s about how I want to be emotionally successful as a romantic partner, as a friend, as a mother and as part of a community.

What am I afraid of? What am I ashamed of? Will I manage to show myself one small step at a time? Will I let the people around me take a quick peek behind my masks? Are there people I trust enough to let them take that peek? I make this my daily routine when I’m in contact with people.

I’m learning to spot when that shameful feeling creeps up on me. I feel like someone has discovered a weakness in me. What are my bodily reactions when I feel a flood of shame coming on? Is it constricting my throat? Am I getting a hot head? Do I become aggressive, or do I want the ground to swallow me up? I take it for what it is: a flood of shame.

I critically question whether I even want to be what is currently being asked of me. What options do I have to get out of this situation? It is essential that I deal with these situations. I write about them in my DOD. I discuss them with my inner child. Why am I embarrassed? What am I afraid of? What’s the worst that can happen? Perhaps there is someone I can confide in at this time. Shame hates being talked about. It dissolves when you do.

“I can’t say the wrong thing to the right person.”

When people tell me about encounters with celebrities or “great people”, they always describe them as follows: “She’s totally normal and down-to-earth. She talked to me normally.” Yes, because she is authentic and isn’t wearing a mask. That’s why this woman is successful.

If the people around me are trapped in the perpetrator-victim world, I can help them by opening up and connecting with them, with my vulnerability, my compassion and my desire to belong. This can give them the confidence to bare themselves as well. No judgment, no comparison, no better/worse. Everyone is on their own journey.

Armour E: I Dazzle People with Excessive Openness
When I meet someone new, I tend to overshare. I tell them intimate things about myself as if we’ve known each other forever and are best friends. I skip the confidence-building steps (see 01 “My Journey” > Step 4 “I’m doing really well”). I’m convinced that this will allow me to test how important I am to my new acquaintance and whether the connection is worthwhile.

But my counterpart is overwhelmed by my lack of distance. They are blinded by my bright light. They are irritated and withdraw. They are probably withdrawing and are not particularly interested in meeting again. So I turn up the intensity of my spotlight because I believe that will forcefully achieve the desired result: connection.

As always, reinforcing the behaviour that is creating the problem does not solve the problem. This confirms my belief that I am inferior and don’t belong. The others don’t like me. Turns out, being open and vulnerable doesn’t help either. I am ashamed of who I am and get deeper and deeper into this downward spiral. I will never have good friends.

I write the Three Portals out in my DOD. I calmly analyse the conversations I have with people I meet. What topics did we talk about? What did I share about myself? How did people react?

I can take another principle to heart here. I won’t talk about open wounds during first encounters. I won’t mention anything that is emotionally challenging for me right now and that I can’t really categorise yet. I am aware that building trust is a sensitive process. It takes time, like watching a delicate plant grow. I can’t pull on it to make it grow faster. I have patience. I am right.

Armour F: I Flee
I want to escape the conflict, something unpleasant, potential hurt, embarrassment, criticism, as well as my own self-criticism. I try to hide, to pretend, to avoid contact, to reason away, to blame others or tell untruths.

The most popular options are probably postponement and procrastination. The problem might disappear into thin air. I tell myself that it’s better to wait. I have to do some things first.

The magic question is: “What’s the worst that could happen?”

I visualise what will happen if I face the conflict. Will I survive? Is there any realistic alternative to escaping the situation without facing it?

I use my breath to centre myself. I prepare myself. I will survive this. The uncertainty of this unresolved problem is eating away at me. I am not sleeping well. I can solve it by mustering the courage to face up to it. Here I am. I am doing the best I can. I am taking responsibility. I may have disappointed someone. This is my chance to make amends. But maybe not. I can’t love everyone, and not everyone can love me.

Armour G: I Reveal My Suffering
Only revealing my suffering, but not what lies beneath it, is also a form of escape. I let you see my tears, my disappointment, my exhaustion or my anger. I withdraw because I am suffering or shout at you. Therefore, I am in control of the situation and no longer vulnerable.

I put myself in a morally superior position. I am the victim. I couldn’t possibly have done anything wrong. This protects me from criticism and means I don’t have to question myself or examine my own role.

“Those who suffer want to be right.”

Suffering is a kind of protective emotion that hides true feelings. My anger masks the sadness, and I remain in control. My frustration covers up the fear of being unlovable, and I get attention. My exaggerated suffering covers up my shame or my dependency, and it forces affection and pity.

My inner child is crying because it is hurt, feels dependent or needy, small and helpless. I protect it with my suffering or my anger. I learnt to do so at a very young age. I used this strategy to protect myself from attacks by my caregivers.

Today, however, I am not only protecting myself from hurt, but also from genuine connections. The others can’t see how I really feel, and I don’t say what I really need. I am afraid of the pain and rejection my true feelings may cause.

With my armour of suffering, I keep trusting connections from forming. I’m not showing you my real, authentic self. By covering up my grief, fear, shame or guilt, these feelings can continue to grow within me. I cannot dissolve them until I let them go. They disappear when I show them.

The magic questions are: “What do I really need? What do I long for?”

So when I describe situations where I’ve broken down in tears and cowered or shouted at someone in my DOD, I know that I was actually suppressing my true feelings and needs at the time. I was protecting myself.

With the help of my breathing, I return to this situation and remember how I felt. Perhaps there was an argument, I was crying, shouting or hiding. How did my body feel – in my stomach, throat, head and heart or chest? Was there pressure, tightness, warmth, trembling, or emptiness? How did I behave? My behaviour was totally okay.

Now I’m going one step further. I open the door to my dark corners and switch on my torch. What was I really wishing for in this situation? What would I have needed? Perhaps I can see my little inner child and its fervent wish. I feel it in my heart, my soul and my mind now.

“I long to be near you.”

“I’m afraid of not being lovable.”

“I feel small and worthless.”

“I’m afraid of embarrassing myself.”

“I want you to understand me.”

“I’m afraid of being hurt or abandoned.”

“Something is making me incredibly sad.”

These feelings are all allowed. Even if it hurts. I welcome them because they show me what is really important to me, what threatens me and what I need right now. My true feelings are my inner navigation system. They show me my needs and my authentic self.

I embrace my inner child. I see you. Your feelings are real and right. It’s okay. I am here for you. I will take care of you. Thank you for guiding me on my journey.

I step out of the dark corner and take another look at my protective feelings and behaviours: I wanted to protect myself from …. It was important to me that nobody could see … My head wants to protect me from harm; my ego. I thank it for that. That’s its job as head of security. But I don’t have to follow its lead blindly.

This is giving me an idea of my true self. I realise that I am not my thoughts. They are my security system. I perceive my feelings. But I am not defined by my feelings, my pain, my sadness, my fear. They are my navigation system. They show me what is really important to me. My true self is like an observer. I observe myself living my life.

Armour H: I Am the Coolest, Cynical and Cruel
This armour is not just a protective shield; it is also a weapon. I actively attack others. I talk badly about them, point fingers at them and expose them. They become the target of my ridicule. I try to crown myself the “coolest person around”. I don’t need anything or anyone, and I am second to none.

As an adult, I often hide behind titles, qualifications, my age and jobs I have or have had. Or I brag about supposed friends or people I know. I strive to outdo others. Why do I do that?

People who live wholeheartedly, who are open and vulnerable, are particularly prone to becoming targets because they reflect what I will never have. People I look down on and mock usually have something that I desire in vain: the courage to dare to do something big, to show themselves without caring whether they look good and to step into the arena with their visors open.

So when I’m working with my DOD, I can take my time and consider which characteristics the people I’m criticising have. Perhaps I would also like to take a slightly lighter and more playful approach to tasks and be able to be a bit more childlike again. Perhaps I would like to add more excitement to my shallowly rippling life and step into the arena with the others to put myself out there.

I can consider what actually spurs me on so much. Do I have the courage to illuminate my dark corners? This is where it becomes clear whether I really want to change something. What is my criticism good for? Is it true? Is it necessary? Is it kind? Or can I not bear the pain of my low self-esteem?

From the speech of a politician in 1910:

“It is not the critic who counts: not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles or where the doer of deeds could have done better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood, who strives valiantly, who errs and comes up short again and again, because there is no effort without error or shortcoming, …

… but who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotions, who spends himself in a worthy cause; who, at the best, knows, in the end, the triumph of high achievement, and who, at the worst, if he fails, at least he fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who knew neither victory nor defeat.”

I use all of these sets of armour because I am afraid. I am afraid of how people who are watching me might react and hurt me. My inner child is afraid of being excluded and not being allowed to join in. I have no way of defending myself against this anxiety. If someone hits a nerve by attacking me, belittling me, accusing me of making a mistake, challenging me, or embarrassing me, I immediately activate my protectors.

Depending on which strategy was successful when I was a child, I still use it today. I return the fire, so to speak, lash out, withdraw, try to make myself invisible, hide behind perfectionism, become arrogant, hurt others. Just like everyone else, I have my own personal way of protecting myself.

The consequences are fatal for me and my loved ones. This fear of being hurt, of embarrassing myself, this moment of defeat when my ego triumphs: “I told you that you wouldn’t make it!” This fear prevents me from living life wholeheartedly, from going my own way without restrictions, from identifying and developing my potential. It prevents me from stepping into the arena without reservation and courageously proving myself. Here I am! I am good enough!

Instead, I blame myself and other people. I make life difficult for myself and my loved ones. I hold myself back and prevent myself from putting my potential, my strengths and my abilities to good use. I would like to contribute, but I don’t dare to do so. I should stand up against injustice, but I’m afraid of the consequences. I allow others to cross my boundaries because I shy away from conflict.

However, I have now understood that this is not who I am, but what I have learnt. Or rather, what I had to learn. My parents and caregivers made me feel small, inflicted violence on me and showed me that I wasn’t good enough. They insulted me in front of my friends. They told me off for bad grades, when others beat me at sports, and when I made mistakes when playing music. They criticised me or made fun of my clothes or my hair.

I can’t change any of that. I can’t turn back time. Wishing I had better parents won’t help. There’s no point in waiting for my parents to apologise to me, make amends and take away my fears. I can blame them as much as I like. That won’t remove any of the rocks from my rucksack. And they are not to blame. They did the best they could while dealing with their own traumas.

I can also try to find a partner, a better half who will make me whole again. Someone who will give me what I never got and crave most. Someone who will heal me and take away my fears. This partner does not exist, and if they did, that would not be their responsibility.

I let go. I forgive everyone involved. I stop arguing and fighting with them in my mind, justifying myself and accusing them. I let them drift away like clouds in the sky. I won’t complain anymore.

I’ve been waiting for me. From now on, I am going to treat myself motherly. I am good enough. Not only that, I am actually doing really well. I take away the power of my childhood stories by taking care of myself and my inner child. I make a promise to myself that I will no longer blindly trust my ego when it tries to limit me and make me feel small. I am aware that it is its job to protect me.

I pay attention to my feelings. They show me what is really important to me. They guide me on my journey. They are my navigation system. I listen to my inner voice and allow myself to feel all my feelings. They are all valid, simply because they are mine. I trust myself.

I no longer want to be afraid of making a mistake. I no longer want to freeze up at the first thought of daring to do something. I will stop looking for someone to blame and pointing fingers at others. For when I do that, three fingers will always be pointing back at me.

“I will never experience what I don’t dare to do.” And in the end, only the experiences count. I only remember the emotional moments – the good ones and the difficult ones. They only come as a set. Either I take a risk or I don’t. The outcome is always uncertain. But taking a risk is always courageous and never stupid.

My Light:

Spot 1 Self-protection

Spot 2 The Fear of Embarrassing Yourself

Spot 3 What Is Expected of Me?

Spot 4 Being a Vulnerable Partner

Spot 5 Healing the Inner Child

Spot 6 Do I Belong?