Self-Doubt: A Study in Gaslighting

“Self-Doubt: A Study in Gaslighting” examines how this abuse tactic can subtly be weaponized against us.

https://www.elephantjournal.com/2020/03/self-doubt-a-study-in-gaslighting-examines-how-this-abuse-tactic-can-subtly-be-weaponized-against-us/

Self-Care Ideas

The Authentic Type?

As a college theatre major, I once took a television performance class. The students were asked to serve as the casting director and label what “type” of look each filmed student had.

Concerning me, several classmates made comments like, “exotic,” “a foreigner,” “a gypsy.” But one comment stood out:

“She looks like that woman from ‘Misery.’” (After waiting for what seemed like an eternity, my professor mercifully named the actress, Kathy Bates).

And then, everyone chimed in with “yeah, she’s a great crazy woman.”

Um… thanks?

As a theatre major, I was cast- or rather, typecast- in certain roles. I was the “character actor,” rather than the ingénue.

Still, I couldn’t get past the ingénue’s mystique. I associated that type with beauty, a/k/a, inherent worth.

And, since I linked beauty with extreme thinness, well, things went awry. Hopelessness, despair and wrong views of my personal worth started the ball rolling. Physical and emotional complications, like full-blown eating disorders, an irregular heartbeat and suicidal thoughts were also some fun highlights.

Types. Do we believe only certain characteristics are worthy? What types do we covet- and what types do we disdain?

A 1929 Armand beauty ad once promoted different beauty types, touting its “Find Yourself” campaign, complete with each female type’s matching names. Here are those descriptions…

The Cleopatra Type: “Masculine hearts pound when she goes by.”

The Godiva Type: “Anglo-Saxon, blond, winsome and how!”

The Sonja Type: “Dark and mysterious, she has a way with her.”

The Cherie Type: “She brings the boulevards of Paris to America.”

The Sheba Type: “Dark-brown hair and a queenly air.”

The Lorelai Type: “Blond and aggressive, she ‘gets her man.’”

The Mona Lisa Type: “Light-brown hair and a devastating smile.”

The Colleen Type: “She has more pep than a jazz band.”

Within that extensive list, however, there is not one mention of an “Authentic” type. That’s probably by design.

Inauthenticity is more profitable. It can create a spirit of competition emphasizing aesthetically pleasing, surface values, rather than the more significant matters of life. Everyone gets obsessed with appearance, so they miss other things that are happening around them. I know I was not preoccupied with world affairs and helping my fellow man.

Rather…

 “...They were now competition for me. If I could be thinner than these women, then I’d be better than they were as well… Competition grew between me and any thin girl or woman. Mirror, mirror: I had to be the thinnest one of them all. It was life or death importance, anything less than that was unacceptable. Gaining any weight, whatsoever, meant failure, simple as that...What I didn’t realize at the time was that my eyes and mind were incapable of seeing anything but a distorted image...”

(Excerpt from “Thin Enough: My Spiritual Journey Through the Living Death Of An Eating Disorder”)

However, no matter what I did, I could not attain that coveted standard. No matter what, I never felt “beautiful.” I never felt valuable.

And, of course, I never felt authentic.

Breast cancer has since radically shifted my sense of body image.

Now, gritty reality, loss and potential death have eclipsed any kind of type, ingénue or otherwise.

Yeah, this was real. This was happening.

Breast cancer targeted every element of my femininity and self-image. Most impactful? Well, I no longer have my breasts. How’s that?

I’m not the first woman to come to this brutal confrontation; sadly, I won’t be the last, either.

Nevertheless, my breast-less body has provided me an education nothing else could. If I no longer have this, arguably, most identifiable, feature of womanhood, am I still a woman?

I say yes, and, yes, doing so has been hard-won. I face my breast-less chest daily. I am getting used to this newer, different version of myself. And I’m choosing to love and it.

I am not my breasts. I am not a physical attribute. There is far more to me than a physical body.

However, it is within my best interest to embrace, not reject, my physical body. My body is what it is. It’s not bad; it’s not ugly, no matter what “type agenda” tries to convince me otherwise.

And this has been a powerful shift for someone, like me, who once held such a narrow definition of beauty and worth. It’s all opened now. Rediscovering and accepting oneself, the actuality of it is personal, difficult and ongoing…for the rest of one’s life.

That’s authenticity and I’m learning it, day by day.

Grief and fear exist, in my life in a different way now. I have had to mourn not just the loss of my breasts, but the changes forced upon my life. There’s no willing it away; it’s a byproduct of a life-threatening diagnosis. One’s mortality become real; death becomes real. I’m not constantly pre-occupied with these thoughts and feelings 24/7, but, nevertheless, they are there. And, of course, being a particular “type” does not create immunity from this newer normal.

That’s authenticity and I’m learning it, day by day.

Physical discomfort, likewise, is a newer reality in my breasts’ absence. Surgery simply did not just remove these body parts. It also left a scar, with its scar tissue, along with a change to how my chest looks and feels. Think plastic-y breastplate I cannot fully take off. That feeling. Being a “Sheba Type,” other any other offered possibility, like the Armand ad promises, cannot do anything to change that experience.

That’s authenticity and I’m learning it, day by day.

I am more direct now. And this is probably the greatest transformation to my person, even greater than losing my breasts. Authenticity presents itself in such rawness.

Before my diagnosis, surgery and treatment, I had the luxury of not needing to face my issues head-on. Yeah, sure, I’d been in therapy for my eating disorders and abuse experiences, but I was merely skating around various issues. I could still play the game, play the role, play the type.

Now, I’m facing things, with less flinching than I was before. Call it mortality, perhaps, yet again. Call it age. Call it maturity (well, that one may still be up for debate).

Whatever it is, there has surfaced a different boldness to tackle things. I don’t have the time, the energy or the will to avoid getting to the point.

I’m now more involved and earnest in this process because, let’s be authentic, my life may not be as “lifelong” as I previously thought.

Mortality.

No one gets out of here alive.

I’m not doing it perfectly. For anyone who’s been in recovery from anything in life, we know it’s an imperfect, ongoing process.

That’s authenticity and I’m learning it, day by day.

Now, it’s less about being some delicate expression of a beautiful girl or a certain “type;” it’s more about being authentically me, beyond image, beyond presumption, beyond the pleasing scripts we so often find ourselves voicing.

Authenticity. More than a type, more than a look. It is a way of being in the world and, day by day, you and I make choices concerning it.

How real are we? How honest?

You may not be going through a major health crisis, but right now, you are going through something, aren’t you?

How are you playing into a type?

And really, is it working for you?

It’s time to question the importance of type versus our authentic selves.

Where’s the disparity? Why do we need the shell of a type instead of simply being ourselves?

Each of us is worth participating in our own unique authenticity. No image, manipulation, personal experience or other individual’s opinion are required to qualify that.

Therefore, right now, let’s dare to type ourselves as authentic beings of integrity. Its effects are everlasting.

Copyright © 2020 by Sheryle Cruse

Don't Be Perfect...

The Harmful Messages We Believe About Our Abusers

Concerning the abusive dynamic, I’m uneasily reminded of Abraham’s Lincoln’s statement about enemies…

“Do I not destroy my enemies when I make them my friends?”

That’s a lovely theory, and, in an ideal world, I’d be quite enthusiastic about it.

But life is un-ideal… and filled with abusive people who require a different approach from us… for our own safety.

With all due respect to President Lincoln, somehow, I don’t think he considered the toxic manipulation of some individuals. When someone is abusive, they are counting us having kind and generous natures. They are counting on us to forgive and freely allot multiple chances to them.

Overriding Our Instincts:

“The enemy of my enemy is my friend.”

Ancient Proverb, “The Arthashastra”

Try thinking of this proverb this way: the gut reaction concerning my abuser is my friend.

See anything different now?

Yes, here’s, often, where it all gets started. We completely ignore our intuition. We dismiss our gut.

When we are involved with an abuser, we often don’t want to acknowledge that painful reality. We try to talk ourselves out of it. We convince ourselves that this kind of ugly stuff doesn’t happen to “people like us.” We reassure ourselves that this person is too attractive, too wealthy, too intelligent, too nice, too this-or-that, to be an abuser.

As much as we believe the abuser’s lies, we believe our own even more strongly.

The Harm: “Do I not destroy my enemies when I make them my friends?”

All of this can set the dangerous stage to sway us into wanting “to make things work” with an abusive, harmful person. We’re encouraged to make nice.  If we just believe our magical thinking, over unflattering reality, then everything will be okay.

And it’s not just that. We give more authority, more credence, to the “other” opinion, be it the abuser’s, the family and friends trying to talk us out of “acting too rashly,” and even systems like clergy and law enforcement, who encourage us to “think about what we’re doing.”

The translation of all of that is this: don’t trust yourself; trust them; trust us.

But, may times, by doing that, in matters like abuse, there is no destruction of the enemy, only the destruction of ourselves.

That’s not a fair trade.

Destructive Striving:

Speaking of destruction, there’s a lot of destructive striving. We reason, “If I can just do this, or stop doing that…”

And somehow, we never quite finish that sentence, other than to soothe ourselves with the hope that, “things will be better.” Again, it’s the magical thinking which woos us into accepting the faulty, dangerous core belief. Whether or not we know the exact language of that core belief, most of the time, it goes something like this:

“This is my fault. I deserved it. If I can just act right, then the hitting, the screaming, the pain (the abuse) will stop.”

The Harm: “Do I not destroy my enemies when I make them my friends?”

If we entertain Lincoln’s statement, while in this mindset, we can convince ourselves that being friends with our abuser, being accommodating concerning them, will solve things. All it takes is our willingness to be friends, and, again, “to make nice.”

But, often, when it comes to our striving, we’re the only ones doing the work. There is no two-way street. There is only the continuation of an unhealthy and unsafe dynamic.

The 4 F’s:

Most of us have heard about “fight or flight” coping strategy when it comes to crisis and an adrenalin response.

But there are two more “F’s:” Freeze and Fawn.

And, again, in the light of abuse, these reactions can be vain attempts to stop the pain, the violence and the unhealthy dynamic we suffer, at the whims of the abuser.

We desperately try to reassure ourselves, no matter which tactic we employ, “If I do this, maybe, they’ll leave me alone.”

The Harm: “Do I not destroy my enemies when I make them my friends?”

Again, the mistaken belief we accept, much to our detriment, is that the onus lies solely with us. It’s up to us, to fix and change things, never the abuser’s job. Make friends, “make nice,” do whatever it takes.

Fight… maybe we don’t fight our abuser, but we fight for the remedy which will change things. Flight… perhaps, we try to flee to safety, to avoid the harmful person and the ugly reality, any way we can.

Freeze… we can try not to be noticed; we endeavor to blend into our surroundings.

Fawn… we attempt to give in, hoping our acquiescence will prompt the abuser’s mercy.

Again, it’s all about us making things better, “friendlier,” for and with the abuser. However, during these attempts, we only exhaust and deplete ourselves. Nothing gets better, nothing changes, at least, not in the real ways we desire.

And, all the while, the abuser is comfortable, enabled, even rewarded as we are the ones doing all the heavy lifting.

Once again, in this situation, “friendship” is not the answer, just a harmful, codependent mirage.

Refusal of “What Is:”

The American Buddhist nun, Pema Chödron is famous for her concept, “Idiot Compassion.” It’s when we continue to participate in an unhealthy dynamic, situation or relationship because we feel obligation, responsibility, pity and yes, complicated love/enmeshment for the toxic person. We believe our involvement is necessary and helpful, even if it is to our own detriment. We believe that, if we keep “helping,” then things will finally be the way we long for them to be.

We pin magical thinking on “what if,” instead of “what is.”

The Harm: “Do I not destroy my enemies when I make them my friends?”

Repeatedly, we convince ourselves that it can change; they will change. It will get better.

We can do this for years, for decades, for our entire lives.

We can do that at the expense of our health, safety, marriages, families, careers, finances, relationships and personal goals.

Again, returning to the Abraham Lincoln enemy/friend quote, we cling to the hope that our hearts, our desires and efforts, somehow, will win the love of the abusive person, so much so, that they radically and permanently transform, love us back, and participate in a healthy, loving relationship that heals our wounds.

And, again, we take sole ownership of that unrealistic and unhealthy feat. We do not allow the other person to rise and fall on the realities of their own consequences. We rescue them before that ever has a chance of happening.

So, there’s no impetus, no need for change. Why would that person change? Things are working so well for them. We’re taking care of everything for them.

Keeping the Foe a Foe: Permission To Heal:

You cannot negotiate with abusers, much like you cannot negotiate with terrorists.

Ideally, yes, everyone would be able to get along, make amends, do the Kumbaya thing. But that concept is an unachievable Utopia, not the real world.

It’s to the abuser’s advantage, and to our disadvantage, to make them our friends, and a part of our inner circle.

We don’t need to be hostile or injurious about it, although, from the abuser’s perspective, that’s often how they’ll view our actions. This isn’t about seething hatred and bitterness, about plotting our revenge.

Rather, it’s about first granting ourselves the permission to keep harmful people out of our lives. This can start with a tiny word: “no.” This starts with boundaries.

Boundaries are the simple answer to a short question, “Is this person healthy for me?” Yes… or no?

It goes beyond the stories and the reasons why we insist on giving someone harmful access to our lives; it goes beyond every single extra chance, grace, forgiveness and opportunity.

Is this person harmful? Yes? Then that person is not a friend. That person is a rightful enemy.

Still wrestling with the question? Objectively how would you view someone outside of you, someone you care about, struggling with the same issue?

Would you advise them to stay, put up with it, keep getting hurt? No, you probably wouldn’t do that. You care about them too much to allow them to be harmed.

Well, now it’s time to care about yourself.

Be a friend, not an enemy, to yourself.

Copyright © 2020 by Sheryle Cruse

And the Teacher Responded...

Go Forward in Life...

If You Can't Beat Fear...

Your Gut Instinct

Unpack, Rebuke

“Unpack, Rebuke” discusses the ever-evolving reality of change in our lives.

https://www.elephantjournal.com/2020/03/unpack-rebuke-discusses-the-ever-evolving-reality-of-change-in-our-lives/

Enough, Tinkerbell

When I was a college theatre major, I performed a monologue from Christopher Durang’s “'Denity Crisis” in my acting class.

“...You remember how, in the second act, Tinkerbell drinks some poison that Peter's about to drink, in order to save him? And then Peter turns to the audience and he says that Tinkerbell's going to die because not enough people believe in fairies, but that if everybody in the audience claps real hard to show that they do believe in fairies, then maybe Tinkerbell won't die…. and so then all the children started to clap…. we clapped very hard and very long…. my palms hurt and even started to bleed I clapped so hard…. then suddenly the actress playing Peter Pan turned to the audience and she said, ‘that wasn't enough. You didn't clap hard enough. Tinkerbell's dead.’  Uh…well, and… and then everyone started to cry. The actress stalked offstage and refused to continue with the play, and they finally had to bring down the curtain. No one could see anything through all the tears, and the ushers had to come help the children up the aisles and out into the street. I don't think I was ever the same after that.”

One word: enough.

This business of earning grace, love and worth can wreak havoc. It drives many of us, in some attempt to self-soothe. We reason no matter what we do or do not do in life, it’s not “enough.” We can find ourselves in a state of paralysis.

We come from a survival place of just getting through this thing called life. We believe the best we can hope for is, while paralyzed, is to numb and comfort ourselves with our beloved addiction.

We can call it multi-tasking, being goal- oriented or doing some trouble shooting. Still, we are bombarded by the demanding assessment…

“‘that wasn't enough. You didn't clap hard enough. Tinkerbell's dead.’”

There’s a popular self-esteem exercise which challenges us to rethink what it means to be on the adequacy/inadequacy spectrum. For those of us who are prone to black and white, all or nothing thinking, this confronts how, when we think the absolute worst of ourselves, we tend to see ourselves as being complete failures, as being inherently worthless, talentless, stupid and incompetent.

The other end of this oppressive spectrum, in our minds, is complete and total perfection and competence. It means we have reached an “enough” status. We are smart enough, pretty enough, rich enough, talented enough, lovable enough, on and on… You get the picture.

Until we are that, we are nothing, again, according to our harsh and mistaken minds.

But really, the more accurate, more human, perspective is our placement on the continuum of skills and capabilities. We are somewhere in the middle.

Our harsh inner critic often doesn’t take kindly to that assertion. Perfection is a demanding taskmaster, promising fulfilled dreams and a pain-less existence. We set ourselves up for devastation when we expect that promise to be thoroughly realized in our lives.

But it’s not hopeless. For, along with the realistic approach to the adequacy spectrum exists one important antidote word: Nevertheless.

Here’s a few statements to shout down that inner critic’s inaccurate and harmful self-assessment:

Harsh Inner Critic Assessment: “I can’t do anything right.”

Nevertheless Antidote: “I have failed at something. Something has not worked out. Nevertheless, I am still here, still breathing, still a person of value, even though I cannot quite experience it in this moment.”

Harsh Inner Critic Assessment: “I keep screwing up.”

Nevertheless Antidote: “I have had successes in my life. I have done a number of things well. I may have failed here, nevertheless, things are not over for me. I will succeed again.”

Harsh Inner Critic Assessment: “It’s over.”

Nevertheless Antidote: “It feels over. Nevertheless, it is not. My perception in this moment is not the end-all, be-all of reality.”

Yes, life, inevitably, deals us some trauma, pain or negative experiences which reinforce how, indeed, we did not clap hard enough.

Perhaps our marriage failed...

Perhaps someone died...

Perhaps we lost our career, our financial stability or our reputation...

Maybe we’re given a particular diagnosis or health challenge…

So now, our personal Tinkerbell, because of imperfect life and self, can feel dead.

All the more reason, within these moments, to embrace and execute a countering assertion in the face of the notorious demand…

Enough is enough.

We need to challenge our definition of what “enough” means.

Is it perfection?

Is it pain-free?

Is it consequence-less?

Just what are we expecting when we place “enough” as a demand, upon ourselves?

Human beings are flawed and fragile. We need to recognize and honor that. To demand superhuman of our human condition is abusive.

And it doesn’t work.

Even if/when we achieve some measure of an elusive “enough” status, inevitably, something will break down. “Enough,” especially within the realm of perfection, and “all- needs- completely- met” expectation, is not sustainable. Being human will trump that. Just wait.

I love a quote uttered from the late, great tennis phenomenon, Arthur Ashe:

“Start where you are. Use what you have. Do what you can.”

Notice, there was no utterance of perfection or unrealistic promise. Instead, his statement exudes…

“Enough is enough.”

That always applies to you and I. Tinkerbell may live; she may die. But our inherent “enough” status exists and remains.

Nothing can ever kill that.

Copyright © 2020 by Sheryle Cruse

In Need of a Motivational Penquin...

Psalm 91

1 Whoever dwells in the shelter of the Most High will rest in the shadow of the Almighty.

2 I will say of the LORD, “He is my refuge and my fortress, my God, in whom I trust.”

3 Surely he will save you from the fowler’s snare and from the deadly pestilence.

4 He will cover you with his feathers, and under his wings you will find refuge; his faithfulness will be your shield and rampart.

5 You will not fear the terror of night, nor the arrow that flies by day,

6 nor the pestilence that stalks in the darkness, nor the plague that destroys at midday.

7 A thousand may fall at your side, ten thousand at your right hand, but it will not come near you.

8 You will only observe with your eyes and see the punishment of the wicked.

9 If you say, “The LORD is my refuge,” and you make the Most High your dwelling,

10 no harm will overtake you, no disaster will come near your tent.

11 For he will command his angels concerning you to guard you in all your ways;

12 they will lift you up in their hands, so that you will not strike your foot against a stone.

13 You will tread on the lion and the cobra; you will trample the great lion and the serpent.

14 “Because he loves me,” says the LORD, “I will rescue him; I will protect him, for he acknowledges my name.

15 He will call on me, and I will answer him; I will be with him in trouble, I will deliver him and honor him.

16 With long life I will satisfy him and show him my salvation.”

IMHO

Most of us are familiar with the children’s classic, “Charlotte’s Web” by E.B. White. We’re familiar with our favorite county fair pig, Wilber and his unlikely relationship with a spider named Charlotte.

As the story unfolds, the reality of a country fair pig’s fate becomes clear: he will be slaughtered. Upsetting as this is, Charlotte works out a P.R. campaign to save Wilbur. She starts creating a series of message cobwebs which declare how wonderful this pig is and how it would, therefore, be a grave mistake to kill him. It, inevitably, becomes a tourist attraction, thus securing Wilbur’s safety. With messages like, “Some Pig,” “Terrific,” and “Radiant,” interested was, indeed, generated.

And one of those messages was that of “Humble.”

We hear a lot about the importance of humility. All of that “pride goeth before a fall” stuff permeates our culture and our daily lives. We are repeatedly told to be humble, to stay humble.

Let’s look at that a little. What does humble mean?

It’s not the same as destructively tearing ourselves down. It’s not about poor self-esteem. Rather, it’s about a more realistic and accurate assessment of who we are and what our place is in the world. It starts by learning and accepting that yes, we are fallible, but still valuable.

Like Wilbur, many of us do not know just how intrinsically important we are; we, often, have not been taught that truth. We live in constant insecurity; we may even feel like, on some level, our lives are threatened. We underestimate the power of opinion, ours or anyone’s else’s. We possess faulty thinking and belief systems, many times, causing us harm in the process.

And, of course, we certainly don’t want to traipse over to the extreme opposite, being so insufferable and arrogant, puffing our chests and our inferiority complexes out for everyone to see.

Like the whole cliché of life, the more doable solution appears to be somewhere, in the middle, in the moderation.

Cue, therefore, a well-worn phrase we hear and speak frequently, “In My Humble Opinion.”

Wilbur, being called “humble,” was being acknowledged and complimented for an admirable trait. He didn’t call himself that. He had no idea of Charlotte’s web-spinning until after the fact.

Still, whether you and I are acknowledged or not, we have the responsibility to do realistic self-checks, all on our own. Personal inventory.

How out of control are our egos?

We need to recognize that each one of us has an opinion, but opinion does not always, necessarily, equal fact. It’s a perspective. It can be supported by facts and truths, but it is still a perspective, seen through our lens. There needs to be a cautious awe and humility at that.

In my humble opinion, anyway.

Copyright © 2020 by Sheryle Cruse

Outstanding in That Capacity

“Outstanding in That Capacity” explores the dysfunctional/abusive dynamics existing between two beloved pop culture fictional characters.

https://www.elephantjournal.com/2020/03/outstanding-in-that-capacity-explores-the-dysfunctional-abusive-dynamics-existing-between-two-beloved-pop-culture-fictional-characters/

Permission To Rest

Make Good Art

The Future Faking of Fool’s Gold

For many years, my family kept this hunk of shininess here, thinking there was a chance it could be the real thing.

There existed the hope that, yes, indeed, they struck gold!

Now, I have inherited this hunk of shininess, only to discover it was, in fact, “Fool’s Gold.”

As I’ve learned more about Narcissistic abuse, I’ve discovered one of its most important tactics: “future faking.”

A future faker uses promises, inferences and intensity to simulate intimacy and to keep control of a relationship or a situation.

Indeed, I have repeatedly experienced this device, although I didn’t know what to call it. It’s sanity-saving to recognize that what I went through had a name.

“Someday…”

A large component of my personal experience with emotional fool’s gold or “future faking,” involved the use of this word. Such hope and promise were contained within it. The assurance that, no matter what hell or pain someone goes through, “it will all be worth it…someday.” I noticed that, while the persons and circumstances of my experiences may have changed, that “someday” element was consistent throughout.

Future Faking: Just Be Good Enough:

Alright, let’s start from the beginning.

Being anything “enough” was at the epicenter of the “someday”/ future faking promise. The dangled carrot of “If you’ll just be or do this, then you can have this reward” was way more dysfunctional than any goal setting. This was all about conditional love, worth and acceptance. I learned I could not possess any of those things unless and until I met the proper specifications. Most of the time, the rules were never clearly and fully declared; it was the insecurity of never quite knowing where you stood.

But keep striving, because, after all, “someday…”

The first few times I tried for the glittering, someday prize, things seemed shiny, innocent, even fair. Yeah, of course I need to try for these things. They don’t just come automatically.

But gradually, as I performed and completed tasks, missions and behaviors, with no promised reward to show for it, I started seeing how the goal posts just kept moving.

Achieve this. Okay, achieved.

Now just achieve some more. Okay, done.

More movement of the goal posts.

And it never stopped. It quickly set in how this was a game I could never win. I could never be “enough” at anything, because the enough ante was always upped.

Future Faking: Someday, They’ll Die:

So, learning that lesson as a behavior baseline, I was now old enough, ready enough to be taught some finer points. Morbid, macabre points,

Coming from an abusive dynamic, it was inevitable, I suppose, that certain family members would come to view death as the surefire escape of the hellish existence. Yes, there were suicidal thoughts and even attempts. But it went further than that. Certain individuals would, in fact, make “someday” promises to me, like “someday, when this person dies, we’ll be able to do whatever we want.”

So, as a child, I looked at that person’s death as that hope for better days.

I know. It sounds adorable.

But, surrounded by adults who were supposed to “know better,” what else was I supposed to ascertain from the message?

“When this person dies, we’ll be able to do whatever we want.”

That’s quite a powerful promise.

And that statement laid groundwork for other mistaken beliefs to be taught:

Future Faking: Someday, We’ll Be Able to Do What We Want:

This included some dream career, which further promised “happily ever after,” and worldwide traveling. Underscoring everything, in the subtext, was the even more vague, but gleaming promise: “We’ll be happy.”

So, as a child, navigating abuse, I waited with this adult who promised the happiness and perfection that hinged on another person’s death. We waited for years… decades. Inevitably one day, some twenty-five years after this promise was given to me, yes, this persona did die.

And there was no radical transformation, at least, not of the happy, “we-can-do-whatever-we-want” variety. There was no perfect dream career. There was no perfect international travel.

There was just unrealistic expectation and spent energy, funneled into the “someday.”

And, as I watched and learned all about the disillusionment from this trusted adult, who was supposed to know more than I did, have the answers and make them actualized, I learned another dysfunctional lesson: I better get to work and achieve, already!

Back to the salt mines. And maybe, this time, I’ll get what I want.

Future Faking: Achievement:

I became an overachiever, yes. I’d seen what stagnation produced. I’d seen the disappointment faces on adults as they waited for an answer to materialize that didn’t. I saw how passive inaction led to nowhere, nowhere I wanted to go, anyway.

So, action, achievement, performance, awards, accolades, striving. That was the name of the game now. This time will be different. The goal posts won’t move. I’ll successfully achieve.

I was the cliché overachieving kid, winning good grades, awards, ribbons and trophies. I did this, with the hope that the designated prize of the moment would finally seal the deal: I was enough; I did enough.

But those moving goal posts again.

It wasn’t long before grade school turned into high school, which turned into college, which turned into adulthood, with me still chasing.

And, even though I may have “won” something: attention, an award, some achievement, a coveted relationship, the insidious lies of future faking were still not quelled: “Just Be Good Enough,” “You’ll Get My Love and Approval,”  “You’ll Get Promoted” still existed, just out of my reach.

I chased and “hung in there,” believing If I just sacrificed myself enough, exhausted myself enough, then, certainly, the golden promise would be mine. It would not be Fool’s Gold. It would be the real thing.

It kept me humiliating myself in harmful relationships, as I convinced myself they’d love and accept me if I changed in a certain way.

It kept me expending energy, time, effort and resources because I believed somehow “this time, it’ll work.”

It kept me waiting, waiting for some illusive perfection that would make up for all pain.

It was just a matter of time, after all. “Someday…”

Meanwhile, I learned about what it’s like to live manipulated, used and discarded, as not only other persons exploited me for their own purposes, but I did that, as well, to myself.

Sadist…meet masochist.

What was going on here?

As an adult, wasn’t I supposed to know better? So, why wasn’t I doing better?

Because I still believed the Fool’s Gold was its actual 24 Karat, much more promising, cousin.

And it was never going to be that. All is was, instead, was shiny illusion. Manipulative promise. Toxic hope. It was my volunteering to wait, seemingly forever, on a mirage. No refreshing water, only desert.

I was choosing to do that. The Future Faking had no time restriction on it. It didn’t suddenly expire when I turned eighteen. It wasn’t restricted to childhood innocence and other people’s behaviors.

Future Faking, waiting on some form of toxic hope, was now something I had knowledge about. And I could choose to accept or reject its frustrating terms.

Future Faking: The Promise of Fool’s Gold:

Believing in the hope of “when” can, indeed, be Fool’s Gold. It’s further exacerbated if/when we give our power away to a faulty promise. Sometimes, that’s at the hands of an abuser. Sometimes, that’s simply our own unmet needs running amuck, desperate for some cure-all to make all the pain go away.  We become our own abuser.

Future Faking, with its shiny allure, can place demands on unrealistic “happily ever after.” It can keep us hanging on, staying in abuse, tolerating our devaluation, stunting our personal growth, living in pain. We tell ourselves, “I just need to hang in there, because, after all, someday, it will be worth it.”

And it rarely is. When we compromise our characters, our health, our well-being, our autonomy or any other thing that is precious to us, with the hope that Fool’s Gold, will, in fact, become real gold to us, we are ones left dull and lifeless.

If it feels like someone is using the hope of “future faking” to keep you controlled and staying put, in any context, if it feels like you can never be good enough, do enough, please enough, be enough, that’s abusive. If it is us who are self-imposing this, that, too, is abusive.

Life, love and personal goals are never meant to be unreachable, ever-moving targets.

Pursuing life and future in a healthy way is our true treasure. Its promise lies in the imperfect process of accepting unflinching truth of who, what, when, where and how we are. Each of us can embrace that today.

Copyright © 2020 by Sheryle Cruse

This Side of the Sink

A member of my family, grappling with hoarding behaviors, made herself a Post- It, which read, “Do Not Use This Side of the Sink.” She wanted to remind herself of what worked and what didn’t work in her home, as it was increasingly overrun by chaos.

As I looked at that little square of yellow paper, I visualized my own issues, springing from my background of abuse, anxiety and depression. As I gazed into the square, two phrases rose to the top of my understanding: “What IF?” and “Not Enough/Too Much.”

Those have been the root causes of much suffering. I’ve been in therapy, for years, addressing those causes. But it has only been within the last year, things were distilled so concisely under these two headings.

“What IF?” and “Not Enough/Too Much”

These mandates cut to our sense of self. Are you and I safe? Are we okay? Are we enough of the good attributes or too much of the unwelcomed variety?

Most of us, I believe, struggle with these stifling theories. We struggle to feel we are “enough” in any given context. We struggle to be at peace with ourselves in the world.

Beauty/Appearance

A rejecting sense of self, from the start, was expressed through my disordered eating and image issues. It was mostly reduced to two words I heard uttered endlessly during my childhood: “Right Weight.”

For whatever reason, as that child, I was told I was not meeting that criteria. I was placed on my first diet at age seven to remedy the situation. I wrongly believed that if I just fit a certain image, a thin one at that, I would finally be acceptable. Childhood and adolescence, not surprisingly, were filled with crash diets and self-loathing. By eighteen, I was on my way to embodying Anorexia, and a low, two-digit weight and later, Bulimia, eventually gaining one hundred pounds more to my once skeletal frame in under one year’s time.

The “What IF?” and “Not Enough/Too Much” principles were in full effect as I was petrified of “being fat.” That was the worst thing that could befall me. “Being fat” would, indeed, bring much-deserved wrath, punishment and confirmation I was worthless. And I wanted to escape that horrible sentence. So, I created my own disordered prison to prevent it. Only, it didn’t work. No matter where I was on the scale, no matter how emaciated, puffy and yes, “fat” I was, I was still hounded by “What IF?” and “Not Enough/Too Much.”

But I never answered that faulty thinking. I just lived in worst-case scenario possibility, never challenging the oppression with “You will still be valuable and good enough. That won’t change.”

“What IF?” and “Not Enough/Too Much” didn’t let me off the hook, cementing fear. Was that nature or nurture? It’s hard to say, even after years of therapy. It’s probably a combination of both. I, by nature, have an anxious temperament. That wasn’t helped by the dysfunction, the abuse and the chaos I was raised in. No matter what, I felt unsafe.

Lovability

And, again, going back to my toxic sense of self, much of that unsafe perspective traced back to my loveable status. I didn’t feel I was. Was my lovability in question because of something I did…or was it because of who I was?

Achievement

My misguided “solution” to that was to earn love. I believed if I could just change the actions “enough,” then I’d be okay. I would, somehow, earn my keep: awards, good grades, scholarships, a two-digit weight, mastery over my human body, control. I knew that unconditional love was out of the question. And so, trying. Striving. Achieving. Failing.

And that last one, the “Failing” option, only reiterated the sinking conclusion for me personally: I was defective. Something was inherently wrong with me.

And no amount of trying or achieving would or could change that.

Perfection

Still, I believed if I could just be “perfect,” that would be my reassuring salvation. After all, no one could argue with perfection. It, supposedly, defies argument because it is promises itself to be complete, aesthetically pleasing, meeting every need and desire. Yes, I was desperate enough to believe I could attain that.

And, throughout my recovery, this word, “perfection” is a watchword I need to approach with brutal honesty. Its vestiges still hang around. The voice, mouthing the tricky word, concurs, yet again with “What If?” and “Not Enough/Too Much.” They are triplets, or, at the very least, siblings, all vying for my demise in any way they can achieve it.

Perfection cannot only threaten to kill the body, via disordered behaviors of self-harm. It can also kill the psyche, the soul: the mind, the will and the emotions. That, one may argue, is a far more painful and destructive death.

Do Not Use This Side of the Sink

And then there was my cancer diagnosis. Going back to that sticky yellow Post-It, I now viewed “What If?” and “Not Enough/Too Much” as “that side of the sink” I needed to avoid.

Cancer grabbed my attention. Now, these oppressive slave drivers could kill me. I had to confront them; they could no longer have free reign over my psyche.

“Use THIS Side of the Sink!”

Therefore, I had to create and implement healthier strategies, under this heading.

I had to counter the toxicity of both “What If?” and “Not Enough/Too Much” with responses that were better for the psyche: “What IS” and “Enough, Even While Imperfect.”

Beauty/Appearance

“What IS”

When I was fully in the grips of Anorexia, my worst fear was to gain weight. That included any fluid retention from drinking water. Anything that moved the scale, upping the pounds was a fate worse than death. Likewise, I viewed any food as the enemy that was going to end me, let alone, end my hopes and dreams to be some version of reinvented “thin/good enough.” I kept torturing myself with the “What IF?” question, paralyzing myself with endless worst-case scenarios that, by the way, never happened.

 “Our greatest fears lie in anticipation.”

Honoré de Balzac

And so, I had to look at and embrace “What IS.”

That means the imperfect body. At various eras and stages of my life, that has meant different things. Most recently, that includes life after my bilateral mastectomy; I no longer have breasts. Some people may think of that reality as horrific and unacceptable. I don’t. It is my reality.

“Enough, Even While Imperfect.”

It took losing my breasts to “gain” a deeper self-acceptance. I am enough. No matter the body measurements, no matter the aesthetic standards, no matter the diagnosis, I am enough, even while being imperfect.

Lovability and Achievement

“What IS”

Now, I’m in a phase of my life where I am gradually accepting the anticipation of the interesting, while learning how to love and appreciate myself. Interesting things are imperfect. And an interesting life is, likewise, an imperfect life. The world still turns without perfection. It still turns.

One realization, indeed, can dovetail into another.

Lovability does not require performance-based, jumping through hoops. It should not require it, anyway. However, the myth of achievement often tells us otherwise. We are as valuable as our appearance, bank account, social standing, relationship, and any other external thing.

But that’s a lie.

No matter what we do, how we look, how much money we make, what goal we realize, it does not change our inherent value. Lovability is part of that package.

I’ve embraced my faults, my failures, my real-life manifestations of imperfection, my drastic, changed body…and I’m still okay. In fact, I’m more than okay; again, I’m interesting. I’m human in all of humanity’s glory. That’s beautiful, wonderful, strong, delicate. It’s not predicated on doing, but on being.

Being is the “What IS” that has been there all along. We just need to recognize it as such. Different experiences and realizations create the “What IS” space. But the space does exist.

“Enough, Even While Imperfect”

And again, it permits you and I to be loved and loveable, as imperfect as we currently are. My faith has thrown around an intimidating, Biblical word: Grace. But, yes, Grace is the Space. Grace doesn’t shy away from here and now, from ugly pain and truth, from imperfection. Grace is.

Apply as needed.

The fears, the failures, the rejections of who we are, whether self-imposed or from other people, all exist on one side of the sink, the nonworking side of the sink.

Shouldn’t we try something else now? Shouldn’t we try something else that will work? Love? Acceptance? Dignity? Respect? They all exist. They’re just found elsewhere from where we’re obsessively hunting. There are two sides of the sink.

Therefore, use side that works.

Copyright © 2020 by Sheryle Cruse