An Exercise in Healing

At my last head shrink session (yes, I'm in therapy), I was asked to make a list. To put down my thoughts about why I have low self esteem and why I devalue myself. I could have taken the easy route and just scratched the surface. Some superficial boilerplate responses. As I started down that path, I realized that easy won't get me anywhere. You can't come to peace if you aren't truthful and honest about yourself. If that were the case, big pharma would take a huge hit to their business in anti-depression and anti-anxiety medications.

It's hard, really, to pinpoint exactly when it all started. I remember being a very precocious child. Very curious about life and the world around me. Never satisifed, much to my parents exacerbation, with a 'because I said so' response to my numerous questions. At 4 years, I walked up to strangers on the beach exclaiming "I'm 4-years-old and I'm smart."

By 8, I was hustling the watch sellers in New York City. My spoils, 4 watches for the price of one. I was confident, self aware and in some ways, mature for my age.I talked at an early age, and as my mother has reminded me, I have not shut up since. Fascinated by books, I read at an even earlier age and as my grandmother tells me, I could always be found tucked away reading. Where I was, a book was not far behind (a fact that has not changed to this day).

I read above my grade level. I knew words beyond my age. In so many ways, I felt ages older than my classmates and by 5th grade this difference became socially unacceptable behavior for a pre-teen looking for acceptance. Not only did I feel older than my contemporaries, but I felt empathetic for people around me. I became a fixer, seeking out other outcasts and yet unable to help or fix myself.

By Junior High and High School, I settled into a niche of friends, most of whom were in grades above my own. I was comfortable speaking with adults and yet so unable to relate to those my own age. I didn't understand how people children who did not know me could be so mean and spiteful. I didn't understand why or how people were mean to other humans for no reason other than because they could. At times, I felt crushed and consumed by the thought of such unabashed and unnecissary meanness.

I survived High School mostly because of a very small group of close friends. I survived because I had music as an outlet. I survived because my parents and brother told me they loved me. I survived because I knew in college I would be away from the small-minded, small-time and small-town people.

I did not walk away without battle scars, without parts of me irevocably changed. The fixer in me compartmentalized the 'broken' and 'hurt' me. If I helped others I didn't have to think about my own pain. That unconcious act snowballed into part of who I am today. A giver who gave until there was nothing left. It worked for a long time. Except it didn't really work, because if it did we would not be here talking about this today.

We've only just begun to unravel and untangle this one part of who I am today. As I look at my 'homework' and see the life-altering events and reasons that shaped my sense of self, I'm satisfied knowing that I am starting to head in the right direction. I know, when this is all said and done, that this journey towards healing is worth it, I am worth it. I am loved.