Episode 16. I'm nothing special

Shut the Fuck Up

I'm nothing special

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I'm nothing special

No, I’m not!

I’m nothing special.

So, why even bother?

When I was in my teenage years, I began to believe this statement. Looking around me I could see how different I was to most people my age. Riding alongside my fatness and all that it contained, was a generous feeling of hopelessness.

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My mind won’t shut the fuck up. It’s always telling me how awful I am, how fat I am, how unworthy I am.
And, I’ve fucken had ENOUGH!
The best part is, I don’t actually have to listen to this mean voice inside my head anymore.
But, now comes the hard part. Cleaning up all of its mess and getting rid of every single fucked up word it has ever spoken to me.
This is my therapy. My way of healing. And, sharing all I have learnt over the last few years.
So, enjoy my fucked up thoughts!

No, I’m not!

I’m nothing special.

So, why even bother?

When I was in my teenage years, I began to believe this statement. Looking around me I could see how different I was to most people my age. Riding alongside my fatness and all that it contained, was a generous feeling of hopelessness.

Before this feeling consumed me I was involved in my life. Each day brought something new and I stepped into it with the naïveté most young girls have prior to becoming an adult. The world was made up of a few simple things. School. Friends. Toys. Playing. Eating. Annoying your parents. There was no sense of insecurity about the person I was. I wanted to get up and have fun in whatever way approached me. Ideas and inspiration flowed freely, minus the mean and nasty thoughts blocking my enjoyment. All I had to worry about was my parents telling me no.

I loved doing so many things. I loved sports, tennis and netball. I loved riding my bike, running around the neighbourhood with my friends, climbing whatever I could and being an active young girl. I didn’t even think about whether I was too fat or too ugly or too hopeless. I just did! I did so much with myself and I never questioned any of it.

Unfortunately, though, as I raced toward adulthood, the “woman” in me formed an opinion of who I was supposed to be. This “woman” was powered by the mean and nasty voice that eventually got louder and louder.

It was this voice that convinced me I was not special. That I’m nothing special. That I am too hopeless to continue doing anything I love. So I quit. I quit it all. Slowly. One by one. I gave myself away. What remained was a teenage girl who was foolishly preoccupied with her inability to do anything right.

And, what made it worse was seeing others succeed. Seeing them achieving their dreams. Getting what they want. Taking part and winning. Being recognised as someone special. The complete opposite of who I became. The more I witnessed these absurdities, the harder and faster I fell into my hole.

It was everywhere! The girls at school, the girls I saw on TV, the women I watched in the movies and all the females splashed about beautifully and energetically on every single magazine page I coveted. My mind went wild. Incessantly comparing me to what I was seeing. Bombarding me with reason after reason as to why I was never going to be special like they were.
Back then, in the nineties and early two thousands, it was ok for women to have only one skill. If you were in the public eye somehow, all you needed was to look good. That was all we would see of a woman. If she had any other skills or special talents, then it was kept quiet. For the most part. So, all I would abuse myself about was not being able to look like them.

Then somewhere along the way, women began to be able to show more of who they were and what they were capable of doing. But, for insecure little (but huge) ol’ me, it only made me feel worse. Now I had to live up to all of that! Fuck! Just add it to the long list of things I was already feeling hopeless about.

Characters on tv and in the movies are now portrayed as having a quick wit, unbelievable skills, they can basically do everything and still look fucking amazing. She can sing and dance, be funny and charming while hopefully still being likeable. This woman dominates so emphatically on all of our viewing devices that she can no longer be missed. Her perfection is applauded.

Argh! Its frustrating.

But, its not their fault. They are who they are. This is not about blame or putting them down. This is about an insecure women who wants these women to disappear so she can feel better about herself. And, because that is never going to happen I now have to redirect my thoughts to a kinder place. I have to turn my focus inward and block out any approaching inaccuracies the creators want me to see.

It has taken me thirty plus years to finally be able to do this. To understand that those creators want to sell me something. They want me to feel insecure. They want me to question who I am. All because “someone” decided women were only allowed to be one dimensional. I fought tooth and nail to fit into that skinny mould of theirs. I tried to squeeze myself into it thinking that if I could just be like all of them, then my life would be worth living. It would be worth something.

This really is such a fucked up way to be. It was debilitating. Exhausting. Cruel.

It interfered with my ability to express my own specialness. I lost it all. Hid it away from the world and myself. The only ability I felt I was worthy of was stuffing my face stupid in the hopes of becoming a better person.

Over the years I had desires. Inspirations. I love being creative. In many different ways. But, I was unable to bring that out of myself because I was never, ever going to live up to the propaganda. I constantly compared myself to everyone else (and I mean EVERYONE) until jealousy turned me green. My insides were seared with jealousy. I scowled at any woman walking past me who epitomised who I longed to be.

If they were skinny, I scowled even harder!
I could not wrap my head around me even being a little bit special. If it was staring me right in the face I covered it up with a blanket. I couldn’t bare to look at myself with an inch of admiration. My energy field was swarming with disgust and retribution. There was no way I could notice a small iota of specialness about me.

So, now as I sit here and write this I am very confused about what there is that is special.

By special I mean talent. Skill. Generosity. Kindness. Purpose. Meaning.

Basically, who I am.

Every single part of me is not special at all.

I have nothing to offer.

When the idea for Love Body Woman was formed, I had already created a few variations. She has undergone several transformations (as have I).

This part of my life is insistent. I cannot go a day without feeling her creativity. She is preparing for something significant. Love Body Woman is me. And you. Yet. I have struggled to bring her to life because I do not have anything special to offer. Yes, I love to write but beyond that, what do I have?

With social media the way it is, again, there seems to be this certain type of woman that people gravitate towards. I am not her. I never will be. Coming to terms with this conclusion was not easy. A lot of soul searching and understanding was needed to realise I am me. Not anyone else. Just me. And the me that I am is more than ok. She is really quite amazing.

All of the crazy thoughts in my head that kept my point of view focused on the unimportant stuff have now mostly gone. I had a thought the other day which made so much sense. If my life is only meant to be spent caring about how I looked, then it is quite the wasted life. There is so much more to me than what I look like. I am special in lots of different ways. My mission now is to find them again. To trust my ideas and inspiration and not allow the fucked up part of myself to dictate whether I do them or not. I have a choice. Always. Realising I have a choice really helps.

Its up to me now to work with my kinder thoughts and feeling to figure out what I am good at. What I love doing. Where my special talents lay and what creations I have inside of me ready to blow me away (and, maybe even you).

There is also one other very important part of this process that I must acknowledge, and that is each moment of specialness I can recall from my past because I wasn’t always such a miserable fuck. I had my good moments, too. I did forget about my misery long enough, from time to time, to enjoy what I was doing and be in the ideas and inspiration. My shitty voice was just way too loud so I was easily distracted away from those parts of myself.

I am a good person. I am full of specialness. I lost sight of those things about myself.

It is easy to do.

The hard part is coming back to yourself. But, it is doable. Absolutely it is. And worthwhile.

If someone was to ask me what is special about me I would struggle to answer. Mostly because I cannot comprehend actually saying anything nice about myself. That’s just crazy. Why would I want to do something like that?

I could, though. Think of one or two, maybe three, things. Revealing them to you is actually scary. I’m apprehensive. What if you laugh or make fun? Or worse, tell me I’m wrong. I am not special in any way.

Here goes, though…

I am a great writer. It is my passion and I am constantly surprised at the words appearing on the page.

I love being a mum to my daughter. She drives me nuts (and me her) but we love each other unconditionally. Without knowing it she encourages me to be a better person.

I can cook. I would love to be better but my doubts have only let me go so far. Despite, that, though, I can be a whiz in the kitchen when I allow myself to be free of those doubts.

I am determined. This fierce determination to keep going is propelling me towards something truly amazing. I love that I have never given up on myself.

Inside me, inside you, inside all of us; there is so much goodness and so much specialness. Both of those things are going to be unique to each of us. If you haven’t found yours yet, there is always time. Don’t give up the search. They are in there. You have used them before but maybe without knowing it. The life we live on the outside comes back into us through a filter. That filter is either dirty or it is clean. It is blocked by each and every horrible and mean thought we think about ourselves and others. The dust and grime stick to the filter creating a build up of dirty thoughts and feelings, which then blow about our mind restricting the clean thoughts and feelings from making their way through.

Cleaning up your thoughts and feelings is a messy job. But, when you begin to remove all of that dirty, dusty and grimy air; it allows what truly is to filter in back to you for a clearer perception of all that you are.

Love and kindness scrub away the dirt.

Forgiveness and compassion wipe away the dust.

Gratitude and recognition wash away the grime.

In amongst all of that I will find my specialness. I’m nothing special becomes a thing of the past. The doubts are filtered out of my awareness. I believe this life I am living comes with a whole bunch of specialness.

I will have fun finding them again.

And, of course, when my mind wants to tell me I am wrong; what am I going to do? I am going to yell, SHUT THE FUCK UP!

Your exercise for this week is to recognise your own specialness. Think back to past experiences where you can identify where you did use something special from within you to be great in that moment but you didn’t see it at the time. Write down as many as you can think of without your mind trying to tell you a different story. Push your doubts aside and be unwavering about what makes you special now. Ideas will pop up. Go with those ones. Resist your tortured mind as it stops you from believing these things to be true.

I reckon you’re not the only one with so many fucked up thoughts.

Thank you for listening.

Remember, keep on shouting… “SHUT THE FUCK UP!”

Until next time.

a collection of poems and short stories

VIEW BOOK

You can read even more fucked up thoughts in this collection of poems and short stories

For the Love of Me

This book came to be from every part of my life experience. Every heartache. Every hateful thought. Every self-loathing feeling about myself and my body. And, every bit of love that was denied to me and that I denied to myself. Be open to what may come to you whilst you are absorbed in the heartache, the loneliness, the sadness, the misery, the hope, the reflection, the spirit and the love in this collection of poems and short stories.

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