They gave us some super easy homework in fat camp last week. The assignment? Come up with a personal mantra. A positive affirmation. Something you can live with even if most positive affirmations make you want to puke. (Yes, that particular clarification was mine. One of my hobbies is arguing with inspirational quotes. I have issues with the genre.)
It sounds easy, right?
Just make up something nice you can say to yourself when you are going through a mental rough spot. Ideally, a phrase that doesn’t make you want to puke.
Well.
It wasn’t easy for me at all. I mean, I know I am cynical beyond reason. I know I am not a fan of the positive affirmations. I know I prize doubt more than is entirely rational. I am not Stuart Smalley. Surely, though, I can write something kind to say to myself when I’m having a hard time. A mantra that I can relate to on my own cynical level. Surely it can’t be that difficult to find something nice to myself. Right?
Wrong.
Apparently “stop being such a fucking baby” and “get over yourself, you self-centered dumbass” do not count as positive affirmations. Neither does “I’m positive I’m being a fucking dumbass” or “I am sure that I am an idiot.”
It turns out that in my mind, there is nothing I need as much as a verbal ass-kicking.
Do I really believe that? Yeah. On some level, I think I do.
Would I ever talk to anyone else the way I talk to myself?
Oh, I hope not. There are one or two people who I am too blunt with. Or is that sharp? Those people, the ones who have the privilege of knowing my relatively unfiltered opinions of them, would possibly disagree that I am any kinder to others than I am to myself.
Which I don’t really know how to deal with.
Yes. I just said that I don’t know how to deal with imaginary criticism of personality traits that a few people may or may not think I even have.
Sobbing internally.
It really isn’t a question of thinking that I lack positive traits. There are many good things about me. I could make a list. It would be impressive. What I don’t really quite believe is that I am good enough. Now, what the fuck does that mean exactly? I have no idea. Good enough for what? I thought I’d gotten past that kind of inner dialogue.
I was incorrect. Inner kindness is apparently a work in progress.
At least my hair looks good.
So at this point, it looks like my mantra is going to have to be:
Come on–just give yourself a fucking break. You aren’t as bad as you think you are!
It needs work.
Just like I do.
Maybe I will just go with this instead:
