Sometimes my mind is overflowing with questions, contemplations, things I want to dissect and discuss.  Other times, it’s just … blank.

Writing every day is an exercise many writing ‘gurus’ recommend.  Sitting down and putting pen to paper (fingertips to keys) builds habits, builds routine.  Builds familiarity with pushing through when nothing is there.

It doesn’t make it easier, no matter how much I tell myself it’s beneficial.

Two days ago during my therapy session (done via computer, obv) I basically word vomited for an hour about the frustrations of family; the difficulties that I cannot seem to overcome or transcend when dealing with my in-laws.  My therapist suggested that the theme, or rather, my theme, something she hears over and over again, is the struggle to please people, to be accepted by people who just … don’t.  And that this narrative — of not belonging, of always feeling less than, or somehow wrong — seems to underline a lot of the large story arcs of my life.

That’s a mind f*ck if ever I’ve encountered one.

So … do I create this martyrdom that I seem to habitually inhabit?  Do I see things, hear things, infer things that aren’t actually there?  Is the problem intrinsically mine?

I don’t know.

I know that two people told me in very rapid succession (and two people who do not know each other … they just both know me) that I need to love myself enough and accept myself enough that the rejection of others doesn’t weigh so heavily on my shoulders.

And here is where I struggle.  I thought … up until this very week, actually … that I *did* love myself.  That I *did* think I was pretty cool.  So to hear that in fact, I might not (or I might not enough) is just ….   Well, it’s a huge roadblock, it’s the biggest distraction, it is the shining light that is currently blinding me.

How do I love myself enough to transcend the continuous rejection that I experience from others?  I don’t f*cking know.

Xo, g