 I was enjoying the balmy fall weather one recent night on my porch, when some patrons from a nearby neighborhood bar ambled down my street to their cars.
One woman, well-dressed and probably in her mid-50s, had parked her SUV directly across from my house. My dogs, who were enjoying the unseasonably warm evening with me from safely behind a baby gate, boofed a few times as per usual, then settled. I was nose deep in a book on my iPad and wasn’t paying any attention to the action in front of me until I heard keys jangling, dropping, then jangling again a few minutes later. This poor lady could not find the keyhole to unlock her car. And I am here to tell you that it may have been long past sunset, but between the street lamp above her and my porch lights across from her, it wasn’t all that dark.
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 I’ve often spent time in rooms full of like-minded people who are focused on their spiritual and emotional growth. In one of those rooms recently, someone mentioned a tendency that I am all too familiar with — the extremes of either being obsessed with or indifferent to people, places, things or events.
I’ve been an extremist in many areas of my life, but particularly in romantic relationships — I think about you every minute of every day, or I completely cut you out of my mind and heart. There is no middle ground. I’ve come to realize that this approach is more than a little nutty and certainly not emotionally healthy. (Perhaps this is why I am blissfully single right now. But I digress.)  The notion of not being enough is a menacing shadow that has cast a pall over most of my life.
When I was growing up, it went something like this: I am not smart enough. I am not pretty enough. I am not tall enough. I am not popular enough. My boobs are not big enough. My waist is not small enough. My hair is not shiny enough. No one will ever really love me because I am just not enough. In my early adult life, when I became a single mom, I was still plagued by many of the denunciations above, but add to that: I am not giving my son enough love, attention, discipline, material things, etc. And above all, I am not a good enough mom. Later, when a thundering moment of clarity demonstrated that I could no longer drink like a normal person, and my world summarily crashed around my ears, my inner voice screamed, “You are not strong enough!” All of this, as it turned out, was bullshit.  Al Franken did a bit on Saturday Night Live in the 1990s called, “Daily Affirmation With Stuart Smalley,” a mock self-help show where the mild-mannered Smalley discussed his and his celebrity guests’ struggles with various addictions and afflictions.
Each satirical sketch ended with Smalley reciting his catchphrase in the mirror, “I’m good enough, I’m smart enough, and doggone it, people like me!” Sure, Stuart Smalley is a caricature of a person plagued with low self-esteem. But because all satire is rooted in truth, I would contend that there’s a little bit of him in all of us. I don’t know about you, but even in the best of times, I need a periodic — if not daily — reminder of my worth. I wrote a post last year about my struggles with self-doubt here, especially related to my freelance writing and media consultant business. The longer I am in business for myself, the more confident I’ve become about my abilities and potential for sustained success, but I still falter from time to time.  I’m sure that just about everyone struggles with self-doubt from time to time. I’ve experienced lots of self-deprecating moments throughout my adult life. I’ve questioned my judgment on everything from my career path to parenting to relationships.
Hell, I’ve beaten myself up over a decision as simple as a coffeemaker purchase. Most of these moments are fleeting, and an internal pep talk gets my self-esteem out of the gutter and back to reality pretty fast. I gotta say, though, making the choice to build a freelance writing and media consulting business and be my own boss has really put my confidence to the test. I have had more “WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU THINKING?” episodes in the past six months than I’ve had in all my prior years on this planet. |
About Amy HiggsA former newspaper columnist, Amy takes her random, slice-of-life stories to the web. After 12 years, she's still just saying. Archives
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