Self-acceptance has been a heavy theme this week, emerging from several unconnected conversations with friends and clients.
This has been especially true for me this week. Every day, I experienced false starts with my writing, and with other projects with which I am trying to progress. In truth, landing back in Nicaragua (after only 10 days in the States) still required grounding and reassimilating. It felt a little messy in remembering where I had left off.
Not because Nicaragua is so hard of a place to live. It’s not. Especially where I live. It’s mostly comfortable and mostly friendly. I guess I just needed time to return to my routine. Time to fall back in line with the time zone, with the flow of my daily tasks. Time to pay attention to my cat that I probably have a co-dependent relationship with now. (I’m not ashamed. Everybody needs somebody.)
But in taking that time to fumble back into my life here, I felt lethargic and groggy. I wanted to knock out chores, work tasks, lock into inspiration, and write, but . . . somehow I’m still not totally unpacked. Writing was sporadic and blah. My clarity for what the heck I was trying to accomplish was lacking.
This inability to jump on a racing horse this week down-spun me into feeling so terrible about my own capabilities, it began to spiral into self-doubt, questioning my life decisions, feelings of failure, and all the insecurities I know better than to feed.
I didn’t feed them. But I felt their presence. This was all validated by unexpected chats that arose from all sides this week. People carrying the burden of not being enough, not doing enough, and not feeling they are all they should be. Good-hearted, capable, hard-working admirable, and accomplished people shared this.
We can be so hard on ourselves.
And that is just it. We are hard on our own selves.