Following the Leader

…for those of us who were born with fire burning just beneath our skin and hearts that yearn for a different kind of life, the growing up and becoming process is not so easy. We too crave acceptance but not for a false and crudely designed version of ourselves.

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Today is all about the inner critic. All about that cruel voice inside each of us that endlessly criticizes everything we say and do. That tears down the walls of our fragile houses of self esteem and leaves nothing but rubble in its wake. I have found that the more weak and spineless a thing is, the more soulless and wicked are its acts. It is as if the inner critic can only become strong through destruction. That like a snake it suffocates our creative expression and swallows our psyche whole.

For so long I was a slave to the inner critic. So many of us are, learning to be that way to get by, to survive. Always editing myself, editing my words, my clothes, even my hairstyles. Looking at pictures of me over the years however, I am literally blown away. What I find arresting, completely astonishing actually, is how beautiful I looked on those days when there were accidental lapses in my steely control. When my hair fanned out in a proud mass of curls. When my clothes didn’t match perfectly. When I had a wide open, un-sanitized smile.

I know I am not unique when it comes to this. I know we are all battling this same horrible demon, usually planted there in middle school if not beforehand. We are somehow taught that to succeed in life we must assimilate. That “following the leader” is the key to a lifetime of happiness and anything else will bring about sure ruin. Some of us can and do succeed early and often and following in the socially acceptable footsteps of our predecessors comes naturally. But for those of us who were born with fire burning just beneath our skin and hearts that yearn for a different kind of life, the growing up and becoming process is not so easy. We too crave acceptance but not for a false and crudely designed version of ourselves. We want who we truly are to be that which is loved. In order for that to happen an immense courage must be summoned. Enough courage to burst through the stone wall of the inner critic and embrace the mountain top of freedom. We may be afraid of the drop but we must trust our own instincts and abilities. We must believe we can and will stand firmly rooted, letting the inner critic topple over the edge forever.

Easy to say, not so easy to do. It is truly a divine act to become one’s own master. To form one’s own destiny. To give oneself the gift of choice. It is an act of love. The wheel of fate will turn regardless of whether one is riding in the cart above or caught below between the spokes. In reality the inner critic is an illusion. A mechanism we create and then use to judge ourselves based upon what we imagine are the standards for love and acceptance. But, as previously mentioned, any affection gained while we are not being true to our natures is by definition false and only adds to the gaping hole of self loathing which feeds the inner critic. True love is just that, true. Until we love and accept ourselves truly as we are it can never be found. True love of oneself comes before everything else. It is the foundation for a beautiful life. My father would always say you teach others how to treat you. How very right he was. By loving yourself truly, others will love you the same way, “following the leader” so to speak. How much better to lead them towards joy in the hopes that they too will one day learn to love themselves and throw their own inner critics over the edge into the abyss where they belong.

Priceless

I’m not your bitch…
I’m not your candlestick either,
I won’t just light up for you.
I’m tired of doing tricks
On my back.
I’m not your pet,
You can’t tie me to a tree
And throw me bones.
I will never lay down at your feet,
I will stay a wild thing,
I will never jump up and lick your face, just to hear everyone’s so
Proud of you
Proud of you
Proud of you.
I would rather drown in a sea of my own undoing, than fly with the wings you made me,
Suffocating in a sulphuric air I cannot breathe.
I am worth more than anything you could give me…
I am
priceless.

 

 

 

Author: bravelybipolargirl

I’m a writer and stay-home mother of three. I live with my husband, mother and 4 1/2 year old daughter in Wasilla, Alaska. My two teenage sons 14 and 16 spend summers and holidays with us. I am diagnosed bipolar 1 with psychotic features and my mission is to eradicate the stigma of mental illness in our society.

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