Stan looked me in the eye and declared "You're not good enough. Paula, you don't deserve what you charge." And before I knew it, I was off and running with Shame and Regret in-tow. The sensation of needing to move, canter away, hide, isolate, not let Stan or anyone see just how effected I am, was powerful and unrelenting. Cry, scream, rant, rage, tear around in a panic. All of the folks who've mimicked that same sentiment came flooding into my sphere. The ex-boyfriends, bosses, old friends, people in the audience frowning about my presentation or class, girls who bullied me in middle school. They jeer and shout, badger and fret about my so-called life, talents, skills, personality, ideas, and seeming conjectures.
I play out Stan's words over and over. They echo off the trees, cliffs, car interior, jarring and painful. I feel the stabbing scars opening up. Wounds have memory. They take us to those dank places to hide away and suffer in silence. Until they seep to the surface and recant the depth of humiliation.
I wind around, circle the circumstances when I felt criticized, judged, berated for my choices, as though I were the ONLY ONE on the planet to take mis-steps. I crush my longing for feeling good, healthy, happy, forgiven. I didn't earn this wealth. What I have isn't justified. So many people have so much less than I do, I should give everything I have away. Pack up. Go somewhere I'm not known, far away from the familiar. Because I'm not entitled to anything good or fair or right.
How can I feel WORSE about myself? Can I do anything BUT rant and rage and scream and shout in frustration at how my life is going? Is there a way out? After hours of berating my Self, I stop, exhausted. I've got nothing left, nothing to spare.
In creeps a few comments from those close to me. “You are so generous with your time and energy, kind, giving, and selfless.” Of course they HAVE to say those things, they're my family, I'm their friend, I helped them out, they're kind to everyone, she's a nice person and wouldn't say anything bad, he's giving and never offers a negative comment about anyone. Their encouraging comments don’t count.
Hm, but maybe, just maybe they were right. I am good.?? I sit at the base of a tree. And reflect.
I take a minute, then a few more, just to sit. Contemplate my life; the actions I take, causes I support, people I contribute to on-goingly. The thoughts, words, reactions slip away, blend into the leaves, bark, energy of the tree. I glance down at my watch, six minutes have passed and I haven't had one bad thought about my Self.
Then, Stan's words come back to me. What he actually said was "Your services aren’t cheap.” And then he added, “But, we always leave town, knowing our animals and home are in good hands. I gave your name and number to our friend, Cindy."
Ah, the TRUTH comes out. It was hidden there, cloaked in a loophole. It had an audience that was looking for alignment with ineptness, feeling less than, incapable, devalued, an under-earning mentality. Only the suppression flew out of his mouth and into my ears. I was squashed by my Self. My inner insecurities and sense of lack. Oh boy.
What can I do, going forward, to thwart the negative and highlight the positive stuff?
How can I stop subjecting my Self to the pain and anguish of self-sabotage?
When I feel unexpectedly unsupported, what could the reaction be?
Who tends to be the greatest Ally to turn to if I'm throwing myself off the bridge of insufficiency?
Where should I go if the circumstances hit the Damning Target?
Why do I continue to allow the Best Parts of Me to be stomped-on?
How can I stand on solid ground and be comfortable with negative comments and suggestions?
It takes practice. I must have patience with my Self and the automatic reactions that throw me off-course. If I tear it apart sooner than later, I'll save myself a lot of angst and pop into self-awareness more quickly.
Who has a fast-acting, immediate comeback that I can align with?
Who handles themselves as I'd like to in the future?
I'll go to them, have a conversation, get tips and tricks to hold close to my discomfort.
We can role play, if that's what it takes. I'm all ears, eager to learn how to get this skill under my belt.
Obviously, it isn't about Stan or anyone else in my world, it's about my past, the places where I feel scarred and incapable or weary. If I can pad them with love, attention, commit to being clear and confident, those words, and my feelings, won't take me down to that place. But if they do, I'll see it for what it is sooner and bounce back more quickly.
It's a relief to have some clarity, understanding and sort it out. Too many wasted hours, tissues, fear and sadness consequences keep me stuck.
I should thank Stan for his words, helping me to see what I need to work on...but I won't. Not yet. At least now I know what I will say in the minutes, hours, days to come.
"Everyone deserves a livable wage.
I charge what I'm worth.
If you care to look around and find someone else, that's up to you.
It sounds like you think I'm worth what I charge, right?
I know my value and appreciate your support."
It may make him think about his words, choosing them more carefully in the future. I doubt he saw my startled reaction to his comment. He didn't seem taken-aback by my abrupt departure. Or maybe he did and I wasn't aware, in my state of despair. I could give him the benefit of the doubt, I suppose.
There's always room for a conversation.