Wednesday, 13 June 2012


I had a bit of a revelation a few weeks ago. Many years ago I absolutely loved psychoanalysing myself. Well, maybe "loved" isn't quite the word. Rather, I just couldn't stop doing it. "Why am I this...Why do I do that"-kind of nonsense. Some of it was revelationary, some of it was just plain bad. Bad, bad, bad. None of it was really about the finer points in my personality. No, this period of self abuse, for want of a better phrase, was all about why I had messed up and why I would continue messing up.

I'm guessing this went on for years, going by some old diary entries I've tracked down. I can't remember when I stopped. But one day, I just did. Or rather, I no longer drifted to the darkest depths of my self criticism, but instead skated on the surface.

Anyway, my recent revelation was all about how my analysis of the self differs between then and now. Back then it was so very much coming from a space of doubt, of blame, of dislike. And while I do have those moments of "woe is me" I'm most definitely coming more from a position of acceptance and love. I know I mess up - but now I more often than not throw in "but don't we all". And I'm glad I do.

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