Tag: SelfReflection

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Facing Myself: A Journey Through Vulnerability and Self-Doubt

“You yourself, as much as anybody in the entire universe, deserve your love and affection.” – Buddha

I love my son. He’s one of the best people I know, and probably the only person I can truly count on. I know he worries about me—rightfully so, perhaps. I wish he didn’t. I don’t like it, but I guess that’s part of being vulnerable and open with someone. He deserves to know what’s happening with his father, but I still feel selfish sharing it all. I try to ask about his life, to keep the focus on him, but lately, every conversation seems to circle back to me. I wish it didn’t. I feel like I should be the one reassuring him, not the other way around.

I have three kids, but I’m only in communication with one—my son. Right now, I can’t even begin to explain why I’m not in touch with my two daughters. It’s painful to talk about, and in that situation, I just can’t say anything. Still, I find myself bragging that my son is like me, though deep down, I know he’s not. He’s so much better. He’s smarter, more emotionally intelligent, sensitive, and mature. He’s one of the best people you could ever meet, and I’m lucky enough to call him my son.

He’s also one of the few relationships I haven’t screwed up—maybe the only one. And I can’t help but wonder why I keep sabotaging every other relationship I’m in. It’s a pattern I can’t seem to break, and it leaves me feeling emotionally alone. Maybe that’s because I am emotionally alone. Writing all this down is making me anxious. People say journaling helps, but for me, it just dredges up emotions I’ve buried deep, and I don’t want to face them. It even feels physical, like I’m unearthing something I’ve avoided for so long. And at the core of it all is my struggle with relationships.

I think my difficulty with relationships stems from one harsh truth: I don’t like myself. How can I truly care for others when I can’t extend that compassion to myself? I need to start being gentler, kinder, and learn to love myself. But that’s so hard when I’ve spent most of my life disliking who I am. I’m pretty sure no one knows this about me—I’ve always portrayed confidence, putting on a front like I’ve got it all together. “Fake it till you make it,” they say, but I’ve never made it. And as I get older, I’m starting to believe I never will.

I’m trying so hard to pull myself out of this funk. But day after day, I feel my faith slipping further away. I’m scared—terrified—of the future. And I don’t know how to face it.

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Restless Mornings and the Search for Peace

“You are doing everything right—be patient and kind to yourself. Healing is not linear, and sometimes, just holding on is a victory.”

— Dr. Brené Brown, Researcher and Author on Vulnerability and Resilience

Lately, I’ve been sleeping better, but when I wake up, I feel restless, agitated, and scattered. I usually wake up around 5 AM, but I don’t feel rested. It’s still an improvement compared to when I wasn’t sleeping much at all and felt just as agitated upon waking. Maybe part of it is that I haven’t slept alone in a bed since 1993—I only just realized that.

Most mornings, I meditate after waking. During meditation, especially in the morning, my mind constantly wanders, and I have to keep bringing my focus back to my breath. Sometimes, tears roll down my cheeks while meditating—not from emotion, just a physical reaction. My thoughts race, mostly about how to stop feeling this way. I feel torn between wanting to fight and wanting to flee, but I know fleeing isn’t the answer. Wherever I go, I take myself with me. Fighting doesn’t seem like the solution either. What am I fighting? Myself? My situation? That’s probably it.

I know from meditation that I should accept my situation, but I struggle with it. I think it’s because I’m trying to control things that aren’t controllable. Intellectually, I know I have a lot going for me: I’m healthy, intelligent, not unattractive. I have a roof over my head, some money in the bank, and passions like running, working out, and programming. I have a son who loves me, friends who reach out to me, dual citizenship, a car, and a great computer. But none of it feels meaningful if I can’t share it with someone. Listing all these positives should cheer me up, but it doesn’t. In the back of my mind, I’m comparing myself to…someone. I don’t even know who.

I’ve tried so many things to improve my situation. I saw my doctor, who prescribed medication. I did online therapy—it felt a bit awkward, but I gave it a try. I’ve taken medication, though I’m not on any now because I didn’t feel it helped. I’ve been meditating, working out, reaching out to people I care about, and making myself vulnerable. I’ve opened up, poured my feelings out, and maintained honest communication with those close to me.

People tell me I’m doing everything right and that I need to be patient and kind to myself. I know I should take that advice—it’s good advice. But knowing and feeling are two different things, and I’m still working on bridging that gap.

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Facing the Holidays Alone: A Reflection on Struggles and Self-Sabotage

“The greatest thing in the world is to know how to belong to oneself.”

— Michel de Montaigne

Today has been a mentally hard day, and it feels like this is becoming more frequent. I think the fast-approaching holidays have something to do with it. I’m struggling to accept that I’ll be spending them alone. Honestly, I don’t think it’s normal to just accept that—I’m not sure, though. Maybe it’s just me, sitting here on my lunch break.

I was on the Salvation Army website earlier, trying to find a way to volunteer on the 24th and 25th so I wouldn’t have to spend those days alone. You’d be surprised how hard it is to volunteer; I couldn’t find anything. Every time I clicked on something, it didn’t take me to the right place, and I couldn’t sign up for anything. It almost felt like they don’t actually need anyone, though I know that’s probably not true.

I’m sure some people don’t mind spending the holidays completely alone, but I’m not one of them. In some ways, I know I’m doing this to myself. I could spend time with certain people, but if I don’t get along with them, my pride gets in the way, and I just don’t do it. It’s like I’m sabotaging myself—thinking it’s my way or nothing. Maybe I’m just making excuses, but it’s what I feel.

I keep thinking that maybe I should quit my job and leave before the holidays to go to Montreal. Don’t get me wrong, I’d probably still be alone most of the time there too, but at least I’d get to see my son at some point. Something about being there feels like I wouldn’t be as mentally alone as I would be here. Still, part of me feels like I might need to stay here, go through this process, and just endure it. I don’t know.

I’ve been feeling so low lately that I’ve even thought about starting my meds again. I don’t want to, but the thought keeps crossing my mind. How did it even come to this? It feels like a shock, but then I question if it really is. What happened on September 27 just feels like the drop that made the cup overflow, as we say in French. I don’t know if there’s an equivalent saying in English.

If I’m being honest, I wasn’t well even when I officially got here in late 2018. I’ve been struggling with mental health for much longer—long before my first marriage in 1994. Coming from a dysfunctional family, I guess I’ve been struggling since childhood. How sad is it that I’m only realizing this now?