I forgive you. Can you forgive yourself? Don’t worry about your missteps or mistakes. No one is perfect. Everyone has faults. Failing doesn’t make you a failure. You become a survivor or life’s pupil the moment you try again—the instant you get up. Set a limit to the reach of your disappointments. Don’t let them become too powerful or permanent. Learn.
It’s okay to be sad. Just as there are sunny and rainy days, just as not all months feel like December or May, your moods are allowed to embrace a diverse population of emotions. Even if you find yourself in that deep sadness—the one that knows how to hold on and push you down—you are not unworthy of love. You are not alone. Try to find your modicum of hope.
It’s okay to be uncertain. Everyone has doubts. No one can predict the future, and that makes some of us very nervous. Maybe you’re not sure you’re moving in the right direction. Maybe you’re not sure you’re moving at all. Don’t drown in your doubts. Don’t let your worries consume you. There can be freedom in not knowing. Let life surprise you. Some of the surprises will be good.
Give yourself the same unconditional love you give to others. Release yourself from the weight of all of your doubts and deficits. Let the generosity of affection that flows out of you also flow through and to you—be charitable to yourself. Don’t be an internal tyrant. Why love yourself so much less?
Imagine the person you most love in the world—the person you most want good things for. You would move mountains for him. It hurts you when anything hurts her. When it comes to this person, there is no limit to the love, generosity, encouragement, and forgiveness you can muster. You deserve at least as much as you give. So break a piece of that off and send it within.
Love yourself. Forgive yourself. Be less self-critical. Give yourself some of what you so willingly give to other people. Don’t allow your self-worth to depreciate just because you’ve seen setbacks or made mistakes. Don’t dwell on your faults. Move to a more positive place.
I’ll be quiet. I’ll lower my voice. I’ll speak in hushed tones until my words get lost in the crowd.
I’ll be silent. I’ll let you fill the ether with your voice, your thoughts, your pronouncements.
I’ll live small. I won’t expand into the places you want, won’t take up any of your sun, your spotlight, your applause.
I’ll pull my punches and soften my steps. I’ll tread lightly—preventing even the heels of my shoes from asserting themselves.
I’ll muffle my laughter and orphan my tears. I’ll live in the shadows, and defer to my fears.
I’ll paint in black and white, leaving color to those with recognized talents. I’ll walk a straight line, never exploring tangents.
I’ll let you draw boundaries and erect signs that tell me, “You can only go this far.”
I’ll shrink down so you don’t feel small. I’ll prune away my new growth. I’ll live and think inside the most diminutive box.
And perhaps, if I try hard enough, I’ll become so small and unlike myself, that I’ll cease to be anything at all.
Or…
Maybe I’ll ask you to be quiet. Maybe I’ll raise my voice and kick you out—you and all your baggage packed full with criticisms and doubts.
Maybe I’ll take up residence inside myself—fully inhabiting every shade and facet of who I was meant to be. Living as big and far and wide as I can reach.
If it’s okay with you, and even if it’s not, maybe I’ll color outside the lines and break the box.
Write Away 