Learning to Love Myself

For the past two weeks, I've tried not to miss a day. I'll admit it was pretty awkward at first, and I felt like I was lying. I recall sheepishly looking at my reflection in the mirror, somewhat avoiding my own gaze, and mumbling "I love you, Krissy." Whew! I'm done with that for the day. This is weird, and going to be a long month of this. But as the days went by, I started to stare back at myself with confidence and reassurance. I was even protective of myself. I began to say out loud, "Krissy, I love you. You are beautiful and good, and I am going to take care of you. I'm going to protect you and keep you safe." It's nice to feel something that inside of me is changing...

I guess I've battled it much of my life-- just didn't know it.

I would see depression from the worst side of it-- suicidal, not being able to get out of bed, sleeping too much, eating for comfort.

And anxiety to me meant uncontrollable panic or stress-- all-consuming, paralyzing worries of always doing the wrong thing, of messing up.

I didn't realize there was a spectrum, a gradient. And because of this, perhaps I was on the road to the deepest, darkest places of these diseases because I wasn't getting the help I needed.

I've been coping with this sense of worthlessness-- one that comes and goes, and I tried to keep at bay by staying busy. The busier the better, because it meant less time I had to be left with my negative, self-destructive thoughts. Thoughts of never being good enough, never pretty enough, never smart enough. Never measuring up to standards I assumed everyone else had placed upon me. Feeling I was a complete failure and let-down, and measuring my success on whether or not those I cared about were happy with, and proud of, my efforts.

My self-worth stemmed from what I did rather than who I was. In my mind I was worthy of love and respect only if I earned it. Only if I performed well.

This bled into every aspect of my life-- music and performance, education, motherhood, and my marriage. And that anxiety put me on edge. I would snap at my kids when I felt like my world was falling apart because of my own weaknesses, and then mentally torture myself for having made such a stupid, awful mistake. I would grumble to myself about my husband coming home from church and falling asleep on the couch rather than helping me with the kids.

And when the anxiety overwhelmed me, the depression set in. Those days would feel dark and gray, as I wallowed in my apparent inability to do anything right. I would spend hours on my knees, my tear-stained face resting on my bed, as I prayed to Heavenly Father to make me a better person. In reality I wanted Him to magically make me perfect, free from what made me human-- failure. I was tired of it, and thought my life could only be worthwhile if I was free of it.

Something would always snap me out of these depressed states. Perhaps a friend needed help, and I needed to go outside myself and serve. Or I had to attend a meeting at the school. In spite of my reluctance to engage, I would clean my face, take a deep breath, put on a smile, and go and do. And then I would forget about myself and my woes for a while. But the underlying problem was always there, looming.

Early this year, for my birthday, my mother-in-law gave me a book written by Jane Clayson Johnson called Silent Souls Weeping. The book highlighted numerous cases of depression, and of how we all too often suffer alone, in silence, hoping that we can just pray it away. I had thought by reading the book I would come to understand better those suffering with depression, and particularly severe depression, since I assumed it was the only kind out there. But when I finished the book, I took a long, introspective look at myself.

I thought about how many times within the past several months I had wished that I ceased to exist. Death didn't seem appealing to me, because I felt I would hurt people by taking my own life. And I was tired of hurting and disappointing others because of my mistakes. But if I could just disappear, I thought that might be the best option. I felt like George Bailey in It's a Wonderful Life when he tells the Clarence the angel, "I suppose it had been better if I'd never been born at all."

And I knew then that I needed help. I probably had known for years, but was afraid to get it-- afraid to be seen as weak or fragile or needy. Mental illness scared me, and perhaps I feared being diagnosed at all.

Throughout the summer I visited with Dr. Bethea several times. For the most part she let me talk. We talked about family, fears, broken hearts, and unfilled dreams. And that's when I made a breakthrough. Through all these years, I had been trying to make everyone happy, but myself. I had been trying to care for everyone, but me. And the irony of life is that I will be able to better love and serve others if I know how to love and serve myself first.

I talked with Drew last night about this very idea. He's hard on himself for his mistakes, just like me. He likes to make people happy, just like I do. But I've tried to explain to him that while he can try to make people happy, he can't hold himself responsible if it doesn't work. He isn't responsible for others' happiness.

Well, he messed up yesterday. Nothing big-- just failed to come home from his friend's house when he was supposed to, so he had to face the consequence we had previously agreed upon. He went in his room and sulked, not because he was mad at me, but because he was mad at himself. I could tell he was beating himself up for making such a "dumb" mistake. I asked him if he would do that to me, if I had made a mistake, and he admitted he wouldn't.

We then talked about the two great commandments. He knew the first one, to love God. And when asked about the second, he responded, "To love our neighbor." I reminded him that he was leaving out an important part. To "love thy neighbor as thyself."

"You know what that means, Drew?"

"No..."

"That we're expected, after we first love God, to love ourselves. We can't love our neighbor very well unless we love ourselves first."

Dr. Bethea had recommended a book to me at our last meeting four weeks ago-- The Art of Extreme Self-Care by Cheryl Richardson. Extreme... Boy, self-care is serious business! Twelve chapters of enlightenment and 30-day challenges. She advised the reader to read the entire book first, and then choose which challenge to do first, suggesting the challenge I really, really did not want to do.

The idea of telling myself everyday that I love myself seemed ridiculous at the time, and I knew I would feel ridiculous doing it! So, with some hesitance, that was the first challenge of my maiden voyage toward better-- extreme-- self-care.

And for the first time in more years than I can count, I feel like I am actually beginning to love myself.

So over the next year, I will be sharing my journey with you. My intent is to be open and honest, as I find joy through pain, even opposition. Feel free to join me.