Self Acceptance Peeks Out

Sonya Derian, Om Freely, writes this week about self acceptance:

I meet with a writers mastermind group every other week. One of the things that come up in every writing group I have belonged to is this idea of judging our self-worth by what shows up on the page.

One of the participants in my group calls writing the ultimate act of self-love. It is the ultimate demonstration of patience, tolerance and self-reverence. But often, this act of putting our creation down on paper, or reading it publicly, or even owning it as our words, is the ultimate test of self-acceptance. And this applies to anything we do.

You don’t have to be a writer to understand the fear of taking risks, coming out, or expressing yourself in a fashion that is strictly your own. Making a decision to share your gifts with the world is in the realm of making a public declaration of your right to be here.

This is a lovely thought, Sonya. Thank you for sharing it.

Self acceptance is a big deal in my book.

I spent so many years being over-compliant for survival and approval, so many years letting other people define me, tell me what to feel, think, say, wear, telling me what I liked, didn’t like and what I should not or could not do. I spent so many years as a chameleon, adapting my persona to fit the audience. Then I spent a huge chunk of my life strapping on the sword and shield of a ballsy woman while hiding a frightened, cowering child inside.

I was ashamed of my fear, my vulnerability. I covered it with bravado and indifference.

You could spank me; I didn’t care. You could punish me; I didn’t care. You could mock me; I didn’t care. You could reject me; I didn’t care. You could do your worst to me; I didn’t care. You could not reach me, touch me, harm me. I was well hidden, walled off, bottled up, nowhere to be found and always here.

I’m mystified at this discovery and mortified.

Who was I before I put on the Amazon mask to camouflage the Wounded Child? Who might I have become if being myself had been acceptable, i.e. lovable? Who am I now in the sunset of my life when I simply let myself be without artifice, without affectation, without the mooring of professional identity, a company, a cause?

I am also very gratified.

Without self awareness, we are tossed about in the sea of other people’s needs, perceptions and opinions. Without self acceptance, we are buffeted by the tempests of our own harsh judgments and reproach. Without self esteem, we are empty vessels subject to the whims and will of others who may not have our best interests at heart. Without self expression, we are starved for beauty and truth. Our beauty. Our truth. And without self discipline, we are incomplete, always en route, never arriving. Without a decent relationship to ourself, we have no hope of a decent relationship with others, our community, the universe.

Self matters. I matter. To me.

Who knew when I started writing, without plan or forethought, that it would be my soul publicly declaring its right to be here.

Hello.

Is that self acceptance peeking out from behind the curtains? Who else is hanging back in the shadows of my psyche? Who else needs a voice in this forum?

Come out. Come out. Wherever you are. Olly. Olly. Oxen free.

Related Posts:

• Fun to Be One
• Looks Who’s Talking
• Happily Every After: One Day at a Time