Last year I bought and started a two year journal. It’s a pretty cool idea….it was five bucks…I knew my follow through with it would be horrible, but I got and started it anyway.
It’s layout is such that each page has two columns on it. The left column is for an entry for year one; the right for year two. I wrote in it for all of about a month…maybe a month and a half. The last thing I wrote in it, until I picked it up this year was “I hate me”
I grabbed it off my nightstand this week with the intention of re-starting. I’m glad I did. I can actually reflect on how much progress I’ve actually made. Without that, even with the poor follow through, I would have nothing more than a vague understanding of my progress, minimizing it as I normally do, being critical of myself because “I haven’t come far enough, haven’t done enough”
I stood. In front of the mirror. I smiled at myself. I thought of how proud I am of myself. I allowed myself to feel proud. I allowed myself to recognize both the slips, trips, and falls, but the times that I got up, the times that I did well, felt well, felt progress. For once, I focused not on how much I didn’t like me. I focused on how much I’m really starting to enjoy my own company, how much I’m starting to trust myself and the world around me….how much I’m starting to breathe through fear.
I found it very refreshing, very comforting that I’m not who I was.