02 My Light – Spot 5
Self-care: I heal my inner child
I am as sick as my secrets. What I hide in the dark eats me up. So I switch the light on. And like a vampire, the whole lot crumbles to dust in the daylight.
My ego shrieks: don’t! Leave the armour where it is! Well. Too late, old son. I’m carrying on. Because down there sits somebody who flinches at every attack. My little one. For years I left him on his own.
That is over. From now on I stand by him. Let’s look at three situations where everyone else usually blows him over.
Evening, a group of blokes. From the third pint on, the mood tips. Who can sink them faster? I hang back. Just not in the mood for getting hammered today.
And off it goes. “What’s up with you? Going soft? Are you a man or a pair of pants? Did Mummy tell you to behave?”
Now I have three options. One: drink along with them. So I belong. Result – I’m under the table at half past one and I’m the hero of the story the next day. Is that what I wanted? No.
Two: sit there with an empty glass and swallow the jibes. Let them get their kicks out of me. As long as I’m in the group. Even as the resident clown. Is that what I wanted? No, that either.
Three. I notice what is going on. My stomach tightens. Careful – any second now I’m the target. And I realise: this is not my world. My values count for nothing here.
So I draw the line. Calmly, no drama. “Have a good one, lads.” And I go. I find people who do my soul good. Or I drive home, put my arms around my little one and feel bloody proud that I protected him today.
And the best part: I go without judging. The lads aren’t wrong. I’m not wrong. We are simply different. I don’t have to rate anyone. Not them. Not me.
Sometimes I can’t simply walk out. A meeting, and the boss has it in for me. Runs me down in front of everyone. Stand up, tell him to unload his inferiority complex somewhere else, and walk out? That would be the most honest version. But it isn’t on right now.
How do I get through it? First the honest question: is there anything in the criticism?
If there is, I thank him inwardly. He is showing me where I can get better. Later, one to one, I tell him: thanks, I’m learning.
But being shown up like that earlier – that really got to me. Next time tell me when we are on our own, not in front of the whole team.
And if there is nothing in it? If my colleagues didn’t think it was fair either? Then I take my little one under my protection. Here the wisdom of an old Stoic helps me.
The boss does what he thinks is right. Not what I think is right. If he is wrong, he carries the damage, not me. Just like somebody who says “two plus two is five” – that doesn’t make four wrong. It only makes him a fool.
His false judgement about me says nothing about me. It says everything about him.
Third situation. This time I am the one dishing it out. Somebody attacks me, and bang, I type a message back. Poisonous. Pull the trigger. Gone.
Three seconds later: my stomach. Damn. That should never have gone out. Because my words went through none of the three gates. Is it true? Is it necessary? Is it kind? Three times no.
What happened there? My alarm system took over. Fight or flight. The clear-thinking part of me – simply gone. All that was left was the wounded little one hitting back.
Now I need an anchor. A sentence I say out loud to myself until I can think again. “I will survive this. I am not a bad person. There is a solution.”
Then I talk to my little one the way I would to my best friend. “Hey, he really got you going there. You lost your rag. It happens. I’m with you.”
And when the smoke has cleared, out comes the DoD. What was the trigger? What did he hit in me? Which old wound? I write it down. I see it in front of me. And what I can see, I can change. Next time my mind will be faster than my finger on the trigger.
Three situations, one pattern. I stand by my little one.
That leaves the question: what do I actually want? A life wrapped in cotton wool where nothing can happen to me – and where nothing happens either? Or the risk of falling flat on my face, and in return a life full of real moments?
I know what I want. And slowly I am turning into one of those people I always admired. You know the ones. The real ones. They couldn’t care less what anyone thinks of them. Which is exactly why everyone likes them.
They are not perfect. Never were, don’t want to be. Which is exactly why they are so bloody good at what they do. They see the glass half full. They don’t moan. Exhaustion is not a medal to them. There is always time for playing and lazing about.
They compare themselves with nobody. At most with themselves. They don’t worry – worrying changes nothing anyway. And they laugh, sing, dance. Because that is a thousand times cooler than trying to be cool all the time.
That is where I want to get to. And the way there leads through my little one. I take him by the hand. And off we go.