GIVE YOUR SELF ESTEEM
Esteem. What a great word. From Latin, aestimare – to estimate.
I love words. And I love the English language, where there are endless nuances that shape your choices when you write.
Self-esteem. Confidence in one’s own worth or abilities; self-respect. I think some people are born with it. And some aren’t. Whether or not it can be learned is, I think, the more important thing to ponder. I know I wasn’t born with it. I have no memories at all before the age of about six, and all my early memories (and frankly quite a few of my life’s memories) are of things I did wrong, or mistakes I made, or punishments that were meted out. As soon as I began to understand the concept of ‘me’, I knew there was something terribly wrong. I wasn’t pretty. I wasn’t smart. I wasn’t good. In fact, I was bad.
Excerpted from one of my writings:
A theatre troop performs for them in the cafeteria, and they are selecting some children from the audience to participate. They hold up a green velvet princess dress and ask for volunteers. How quickly she raises her hand, reaching, hoping, straining to be noticed. The dress is so beautiful. She’ll never get to wear something like it unless they pick her right now please pick me please please.
They pick the pretty little blond girl sitting a few feet in front of her, and immediately she is consumed by an overwhelming sense of resentment – and resignation. Of course they didn’t pick her. She is ugly, different. Only the pretty girls get - or ever will get - picked for things like that. It will never be her. The world doesn’t like ugly people, ugly little girls with glasses and no friends.
This happened to me. And it hurts even now. I’m fifty fucking two and I’m still in third grade. I have this visual in my mind of a room full of third graders and me as I am now, with my hand in the air, waving frantically, my bingo wing flapping, begging to be picked. Of course in this scenario there are twenty children seated behind me who can’t see the stage. And they are not happy. And I can’t leave, because my hips have become wedged in one of those freaky little kid chairs. If I try to stand up, the chair, which I have subsumed, comes with me. So I’m trapped there, forever, in some low-self-esteem purgatory, waiting for my inner voice, like Master Po (if you’re my age) or Master Shifu (if you’re young), to say You have learned what you needed to learn. You may go.
Let’s talk about that ‘critical inner voice’. The one that delivers an unending stream of “self-defeating instructions and self-hating commentary” (from Psychology Today). Mine talks to me all the time, more loudly and vociferously than any other voice. I would never talk to another person that way. I could never be that cruel, that cold, that vicious. So why, why, why, do I speak that way to myself?
How do you learn to esteem yourself? How do you take control of your inner voice? Therapy helps, but not everyone can afford therapy. So here’s a tip from me, because I’ve so got it nailed, right? Tell your inner voice to SHUT THE FUCK UP! When it starts to speak, put your fingers in your ears and sing ‘lalalalalalalalalalala’ really loud. It’s a lot cheaper than therapy. You might not want to do it out on the street, though, or in Stop & Shop, or waiting in line at the PO. You’ll get some funny looks.
Love thyself. Easier said than done. Small steps. Find one thing a day that you like about yourself, and/or do one good, kind, loving thing for someone else, and then take the time to tell yourself that was good, that thing I did there. I’m not so bad. I can grow. Believe it or not, you are allowed to think and say nice things about yourself. To move forward, you have to believe that you can change. And you have to want it. Life, liberty, and the pursuit (not the guarantee) of happiness.
Do one little thing differently today. For you. Just one.
No, that does not mean have a candy bar.
