I’m not perfect. I know I have my faults and I’m honest about them. I’m honest about my bad habits too, and I don’t allow myself to make excuses. I know what my weaknesses are. I don’t like myself very much, but I think that’s pretty normal. I saw a CBT (cognitive behavioural therapy) specialist for a while and she was horrified by what she called my “character assassination”. She said I judge myself far too harshly and that I need to be kinder to myself.
But what she saw as harsh, I see as being realistic. After all, I’m the one inside my head. I’m the one thinking these thoughts, feeling these feelings. I need to be honest with myself. It’s taken 20 years for me to acknowledge that my depression is as much a physical illness as a mental one and that I will probably be taking medication for the rest of my life. I’ve made my peace with that. But I am less comfortable with other aspects of my mental health.
Take my anxiety, for example. While I know it’s a mental health problem I also know it’s ridiculous to be in a constant state of worry and consternation that my husband or children could die or be critically injured at any minute. I know that not wanting to meet new people, not feeling comfortable in social situations, is silly and limiting. I don’t feel like this about others who have anxiety, just myself. The therapist said this was self-stigmatising; I think it’s just being realistic.
The same is true of my disordered eating (I’ve blogged about this a few times). I admit that my eating is disordered and that I am struggling to cope with this. But the suggestion that I may have an eating disorder seems preposterous. So what if I tick all the diagnostic boxes? To say that I have an ED would be like making an excuse, absolving me of responsibility. In reality I am weak, greedy and lacking willpower – that’s what’s wrong, not an eating disorder. My eating problems are my own fault and nothing more.
I could go on – my self-loathing is deep and boundless. I am not the wonderful mother I assumed I would be. I’m not the successful career woman I assumed I would be. I’m not the sociable, popular individual that I used to be. The schism between who I should be and who I am seems almost unbridgable.
I know I am critical of myself, but who isn’t? Who doesn’t wish that they could change things about themselves? This post may seem self-pitying but it isn’t. I am brutally honest with myself because I need to be, I can’t allow myself to make excuses. I don’t like who I am and I need to confront myself and be truthful if I am to make changes.