I was listening to one of the recent Tara Brach podcasts yesterday morning and she said something that made me stop sketching so I could write it down:

What if you didn’t believe anything was wrong with you? Who would you be?

My first thought was “I have no idea.” I couldn’t even fathom this possibility. It was so far out of the realm of my imagination that absolutely no answer lept to my mind.

Immediately after realizing this, I felt a deep sorrow. And then I got angry.

Here’s the thing: There was a time in my life, many years ago, when people were very mean to me. It wasn’t anything that was earth-shatteringly dramatic or even what could be defined as a tragedy. Compared to what many, many people endure, this was nothing. It was the typical cruelty of young children. Saying mean things, being insensitive to others’ feelings. But, maybe I needed acknowledgement and support more than others or maybe I didn’t feel a fundamental sense of belonging I craved. Either way, at this young age, I heard the message that there was something wrong with me quite regularly. I don’t even think it was intended maliciously. But it was said. It was implied. And at some point, it was even assumed.

I think being different isn’t encouraged or applauded, especially at that age where all we strive to do is fit in. And I simply did not.

But then years passed. I had friends who truly, deeply loved me. Friends who accepted me. I left a lot of the stories and people behind. I charted my own path and, on most accounts, succeeded in my hopes to make a life for myself where the kind of person I am flourished. I loved and was loved. I let people see me.

Despite all these things, I continued to hang on to the belief that there was something fundamentally wrong with me.

It was as if on the surface I’d changed my life, surrounded myself with these people who loved me, moved to a place where I felt a stronger sense of belonging, got a job at a place I felt comfortable, married someone whom I loved and who loved and accepted me for who I was. And yet, underneath it all, this voice inside still insisted that there was something wrong with me. Despite all the layers I built on top, the foundation was not solid. It was just cleverly hidden out sight.

What’s even worse is that I had made “there’s something wrong with me” a part of my self-identity. So I kept looking for excuses to self-perpetuate the idea. I continually listen for the bad. When people say kind things, I forget them almost instantly. And yet, when there’s a tiny criticism uttered, I cling on to it for dear life. “See?” that inner seed says, “I told you there’s something wrong with you.” It feels like a disease inside me that feeds on whatever it can get.

But here’s the truth: it’s not a disease.

It’s a choice.

I am almost forty. Maybe I didn’t get to decide how people treated me when I was six. Maybe they got to have a say on who I was then. (even then i had a choice, but let’s say i didn’t.) I am not six anymore. I am not helpless. Their voices are no longer louder or more important than mine. In this case, they do not even matter anymore. Not in the least. I never see these people and they are insignificant to my life.

And yet, I’ve spent 34 years of my life keeping their words alive. I’ve dedicated my life to proving them right. I’ve continually chosen their meanness over love and kindness and truth. The more I thought about it, the more I realized how much I’d done that. How I can still hear them when I get silent. And it makes me mad. (and sad, of course. disappointed. sad. hurt.)

So here’s what I decided after spending some time with the sorrow and the hurt and anger: I am done.

I don’t want to live this way any more. I have no idea who I would be without these thoughts. I have no idea what’s possible for me.

But I want to find out.

It may be a long journey but it’s a worthwhile one. And I know that 30+ years of self-identity will not disappear overnight. But I also know that this is a choice I make. And maybe bringing a lot of awareness to that fact will allow me to pause in that split second of choice and make a different one instead. This is what I want for myself. If I didn’t automatically think that there was something wrong with me, what else might be possible in this moment? Where else could I go with this comment. Can I be more open to receiving love, kindness and compliments if I opened to other possibilities?

I don’t know.

But I want to find out.

I’ve been a life-long learner.

If you’ve been a reader of karenika with any regularity this won’t surprise you. Learning is one of my core values. I’m interested in just about any academic subject as well as arts, self-growth etc. In my dream world, I’d be in school for the rest of my life, taking any class that interests me and continually learning new things.

So imagine my surprise when I realized last week that much of my recent grief was coming from situations where I felt like I should know. There were situations at work, with my coaching certification, with being a mom or a wife or even a friend, where I kept judging myself for not already “knowing” the right answers. When I noticed this, I almost laughed out loud. Here I stood, a learner who kept punishing herself for not knowing and thus in her panic and frustration and shame, closing the doors to any possible learning.

I got an email this week from one of the women in one of my book clubs. She was in the middle of reading a current and popular book. She thought it was really interesting and wanted to discuss it with others. So much so that they decided to add in a new date to meet and discuss this book in a few weeks. I had a very specific bias and rant against this particular book and had already decided not to read it. So when I first got the emails, I ignored them.

As each woman in my group replied on whether or not they would attend, one of them said she wanted to come but didn’t want to read the book and would that be okay. The original girl replied with something like as with each time, you’re welcome whether you read the book or not but i will say that in my experience the discussions between those who read it and those who didn’t read it is really different. Then she linked to an article discussing why it mattered to actually read the book vs just talking about the issues in the book.

I am not sure what compelled me to click on it this morning at 4:45am but I did. And I read the whole article. As soon as I finished it, I knew I was going to read the book. Not because it was necessarily a compelling read or that I’d changed my mind about it, but because I realized that I was clearly standing in a specific perspective about the book, the author, the topic and I already had opinions on all. Reading the book from that perspective would have taught me nothing. I would likely have used it to confirm my bias and continue with my already well-developed criticisms on this topic.

Now that I read the article (and emailed back and forth with the person who sent the email) I will read this book with a completely different perspective. I am now curious and open to what I might find. Open to looking at the issue differently. Open to learning.

When I approach something with the idea that I should know it or that I already know it, there’s no room for growth or learning there. There’s only room for judging and criticizing.

For a life-long learner, that seems like a non-ideal space.

So my goal for the next few weeks is to really explore the idea of learning vs knowing. What else am I approaching in my life from the perspective of already knowing or feeling like I should know? What’s the cost of that to me? What opportunities am I giving up when I choose this perspective?

And, most significantly, how do I find my way back to choosing to learn and grow?