Sometimes I really struggle with my body and self esteem. I zero in on the things I dislike, an expert at dragging myself down. It’s a nasty habit that I’ve spent years unraveling, and there are days — maybe weeks — I slip.
So I have to pick myself up, and force a change in my head. I do my makeup and hair, get dressed, go for a walk, sing, do some work that makes me feel accomplished, take some photos that make me feel sexy, something, anything, positive, to prove to myself I don’t hate me, that I’m okay. That’s the only way through it for me. I wish it were different, that I was different sometimes, that it wasn’t so hard, that I could wave a magic wand and magically not feel the way about myself that I so often do. But there is no easy button here, no quick fix. It’s a grind. A grind that I can’t sleep on, or I fall into old thought patterns, old trauma brain “truths” that are cruel and unfair, and most untrue.
I know that I’m here. I’m trying. I’m talking about it. So I am winning against… me, I suppose. Once I figure out how to work with myself, rather than holding up a constant counter against self sabotage, I’d like to believe I’ll be unstoppable.