…more on Self-Love

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Imagine this: you know a person for about 20 years. During that time, this person has consistently treated you with negativity: dismissing you, abusing you, shaming you, humiliating you, calling you all sorts of names and using all sorts of demeaning words to describe you. And then one day, that person turns around and says, “I love you”. Literally, WTF? How would you respond to such a person?

I don’t know about you, but I doubt that I would be able to trust them in any way. Or even accept what they had to say, no matter how kind or loving. How does a person go from such an extreme to the other? And to expect the words to sound true and authentic? What kind of sick mind game is that? I would need some serious behavioural and emotional consistency to be able to change my mind about that person!

And yet, dear readers, this is exactly the type of sick mind games we play on ourselves.

I had a very profound epiphany recently, inspired by someone else’s therapeutic process. The situation described above? This is any person who struggles with self-love. The other person? It’s me. It’s you. It’s us. It’s us, against us! It’s you, against you! It’s me, against me! As mean and horrible as anyone can be against someone else, there is hardly any greater harm than the one we inflict on ourselves. By dismissing ourselves, abusing ourselves, shaming ourselves, humiliating ourselves, calling ourselves names and demeaning terms, accepting this from others around us, and ourselves. Believing the narrative that we are not enough, not worthy, not lovable.

Do you ever wonder why it’s so difficult to actually love yourself? How long have you spent doing all of the above against yourself? Really, think about it. Think about your greatest wounds, your greatest difficulties. What have you called yourself in relation to them? And for how long? And how much have you believed these names and this narrative about yourself? How insidious are these beliefs?

Whilst most of my core wounds were initially inflicted on me by someone else, the fact that I then went on to believe certain things about myself, is, unfortunately, all on me. I believed it, I perpetuated it, I lived it. The seeds of my main insecurities and wounds were planted by someone else, but I happily went along with it, and watered them until they grew strong and rooted. This is why it’s hard to change aspects of oneself: time. With some of my “stuff”, I have spent a good two decades perpetuating it, triggering it, making it bigger, turning it darker.

Time goes by so slowly, when you finally accept and decide that you want to change and become a better version of yourself, and to love yourself. Alongside my recent epiphany, I realised that the sole reason why I find it difficult to fully love myself, and to accept love from others, is that I don’t trust myself and others. But this is where it gets a bit tricky: over the years, I have received both negative and positive criticism, but I chose to believe the negative. Why is that? Why do we do this? Why, if there is evidence of both love and hate in our lives, do we find it so much easier to accept the hate?

I’m currently reading a really interesting book called Letting Go, by David R. Hawkins, where the author has managed to rank emotions based on the energy they emit, their vibration. Don’t ask me exactly how he has done this, but it actually makes perfect sense to me. Emotions like shame, fear, grief, guilt, anger, are all on a lower scale, and therefore easier to reach, as they require less effort to both experience and maintain. I mean, wouldn’t you say on a practical level, that feeling shame is actually much easier than feeling love or joy? It would follow that the same goes for life narratives and self-beliefs. It is easier to accept the negative ones.

And if you consider the amount of time you have spent criticising yourself, versus the amount of time you have spent loving yourself, you may begin to get a glimpse of the journey ahead of you. For me, even the thought of saying “I love myself” out loud, makes my eyes spontaneously roll a dozen times! It’s clear and absolute cynicism on my part. Because let’s face it: the other main aspect of loving myself is the fact that I will have to let go of all these narratives that I have believed, reinforced, and lived. The narratives that say that I’m not good enough, or worthy, or lovable. I spent my teenage years believing and telling myself that I was unworthy, and then I spent my 20s believing and telling myself that I was damaged. Why did I expect that at 30, when I have finally decided that I’ve had enough of these narratives, that I can suddenly believe a new one? I certainly believe that I can do it, but I also know that this won’t happen overnight. Why would I suddenly believe that I love myself, when I have spent the last two decades believing, doing, and acting otherwise?

It’s not all doom and gloom, however. From my own personal experiences of healing, and being a therapist to many, many clients, this is something that I have learned: if I choose to spend more time focusing on my positive traits, on positive narratives, on positive evidence of love, affection, and joy, then the negative ones will inevitably become weaker. Because that which we focus on, grows. This is why exploring one’s past traumas and wounds is a very delicate process. One needs to accept and investigate certain life events, but do it too often or too deeply, and you’re actually reinforcing the experiences, rather than healing them. Shining light on something painful is often the first big step. Accepting that it happened is the second. Exploring the emotional aftermath is the third, and letting go is the fourth. Once we have truly let go of something, once we have truly surrendered, that thing no longer has power over us.

This is what I’m currently working on: exploring and letting go of the patterns and narratives of self-hate. Letting go of unworthiness and feeling damaged. This is difficult because I’m under the wrong impression that I’ve lived with these for longer than I’ve lived with messages of love, including self-love. But if I’m really honest with myself, I can easily go back in time and pull out plenty of evidence that, in fact, I’m worthy and have been immensely loved throughout my life. The difficulty lies in letting go of this warped version of my life which I have been holding on to, because it feeds into the shame, fear, and victimhood of my own ego, which as I’ve mentioned earlier, are much easier to connect to than the higher frequency emotions of love and joy.

But isn’t the rest so much better? Aren’t love and joy so much better than shame and fear? All the people that I’ve met and deeply bonded with, all the places that I’ve lived in and visited, all the amazing experiences I’ve had? Yes, they are immensely better. And as I move forward in my quest to live in a more loving and kinder narrative of my own life, these are the experiences that I need to focus on and these are the stories that I need to remember and re-tell, because they will allow me to raise the frequency and vibration of emotions that I experience on a daily basis, and ultimately be able to love myself without spontaneously rolling my eyes at the thought or feeling of self-love.

 

Ryan Campinho Valadas

W: http://www.thehealingcontinuum.com/
E: info@thehealingcontinuum.com

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…on Self-Love, Relationships, Narratives, Change, Paradoxes

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Boy, oh boy! What a couple of weeks! Yes, I skipped a week. I felt anxious about it for a few days and then realised that it wasn’t conducive to my already fragile wellbeing and decided to let it go. At the end of the day, not writing for a week, is really not THAT serious!

I started last week telling my flatmate that I had no idea what to write about, when in fact, I knew fully well that the only reason I couldn’t write was because there was in fact too much to write about. Too many thoughts, too many feelings. Too many conflicting patterns all going off at once, leaving my internal wellbeing a hot mess of chaos. This was caused by an unexpectedly combination of events in my real life: two great friends’ birthday parties, no sleep, no rest, irregular food intake, and alcohol. I stayed up for more than 40 hours on some kind of energy and adrenaline, I most likely drank too much, even though I never felt overtly drunk, and didn’t eat properly. To add on to all of this, I spent the weekend surrounded by gay men. Usually, this wouldn’t have caused anything in particular, but the slow debilitation of my physical energy, meant that I probably opened up my emotional reserves more than I would have otherwise.

And let us not forget: whoever one is in the world, wherever we come from, whomever we relate to, there is always a high chance of being triggered by one’s identity, one’s place of origin, one’s community. Between being at a party full of gay couples and a party with mostly single gay men, something in the air was carefully pushing all my buttons and triggering all my core traumas, without me even realising that this was taking place. In short, I was confronted with the thing that causes me the most insecurity: relationships. And indeed, this is one of the core principles of The Healing Continuum, and one which I understand in concept, but not in actuality. I mean, I know that we are all wounded in relationship – traumas do not appear from nowhere by themselves – and I understand that most of our healing must actually happen in relationship. Please note my carefully placed distinction between “knowing” and “understanding” in that sentence. I know the wounding, but I only understand the healing. This means that even though I am more than comfortable guiding others through their relationships, when it comes to my own… well, I still don’t know.

And since I also ended up getting ill following that wild weekend, I ended up having a lot of time to think about all sorts of painful things. Too much time, if you ask me! When I drop into my rabbit hole, I really drop into it. It is often days before I’m able to resurface, and re-establish some kind of connection and balance in my life. This particular trip lasted longer than usual, and it took me back to the days when I used to be in a depressive state for months. Something had really been shaken up in my core. The days following this drop into the rabbit hole were marked by several “signs” of what I needed to focus on. Even on Valentine’s Day, of all days, I get this message: “it’s about you, Ryan.” It’s about loving me, taking care of me, being the best me I can possibly be. It’s not about finding those things in others, so I can somehow feel healed, complete, or whole. Again, I understand this, but I’m incapable of knowing this at this point in my life. I’m very comfortable guiding others through their self-love, but my own? I remember Maya Angelou and Oprah often talking about the maxim of “Those who can’t do, teach”. I deeply relate to that. I don’t know many things, but I understand many things.

My self-love, in association with my self-worth, is something that has escaped me ever since I can remember having a sense of self. Many, many, many things have contributed to this. Some major, and deeply traumatic; others subtle, but deeply corrosive. The Rumi quote above came to me on Valentine’s Day via my Facebook feed. It is so simple, and yet profound. That’s Truth, I guess. There is indeed a seed, planted somewhere in my past, and from professional experience I know others have experienced the same, whereby love becomes about someone else. We learn that love is something that someone else brings into our lives, which ultimately leads us to a place of peace, happiness, and salvation. By default, we learn that we are not enough.

The message of self-love has been beaten out of most fairytales we tell our children, and each other. No wonder people roll their eyes at the mention of self-love: it truly is a foreign concept for many of us. In fact, I woke up feeling such exasperation on the day after Valentine’s Day that I decided that I needed to go back to personal therapy, for my sake and that of those around me. I was truly feeling like I had given everything I had to my unhealthy patterns of emotional unavailability, and it was truly time to change.

The day after this decision, I was talking to some colleagues and fellow arts therapists about monumental life changes and decisions, and one of them was telling the story of how, a few years prior, she had reached such a point in her life, that she could no longer figure out anything about the world around her. That she couldn’t even figure out how to change the narrative of her life, only that the narrative had to change, no matter what. This had felt imperative, crucial, almost life or death. As she was telling this story, I felt deep resonance with this idea that the narrative needs to change. The story needs to change. That some things have gotten to such a point, that it is not even about finishing a chapter and starting a new one. The whole, unfinished book needs to go out the freaking window! I don’t need to start a new chapter, I need to start a new book! I felt this need for a change so deeply that I not only knew that my new commitment to personal therapy was indeed vital, but that this new process will also be excruciatingly painful and critical to my own survival.

The main quote on my Facebook page is by Carl Jung and it goes: “Only the paradox comes anywhere near to comprehending the fullness of life.” I feel that there’s probably no greater paradox than that of Change. It’s the only way to move forward in life, and yet, it is one of the scariest experiences anyone can go through. I’m not simply talking about changing jobs or houses – which are in themselves great examples of this paradox – but I’m referring to the type of change which reaches the core of oneself, and after which one can no longer go back. Moments of before and after in one’s life: diagnoses, death of someone we care about deeply, trauma, meeting someone, moving somewhere.

I mean, my move to the USA at 17 years old triggered such a monumental succession of events, that I’m not even able to imagine who I would be if I’d never done that. But I’m talking about change, because, right now, this is what I fear: the unknown of this new Ryan who will emerge from the letting go of all of these unhelpful and toxic patterns of emotional unavailability. I understand that this new Ryan will be a much better and healthier version, but I don’t know that yet. And because I don’t know it yet, it is very scary. Simultaneously, it is also essential. Therein lies the paradox: fear and love, destruction and creation, death and life, are always together.

 

Ryan Campinho Valadas

W: http://www.thehealingcontinuum.com/
E: info@thehealingcontinuum.com