Stupidity As a Healing Force

Growing up in an alcoholic home, I learned to constantly beat myself up over everything.
I didn't want to, but I couldn't stop.

After I joined Al-Anon, I heard "If I want to make a change, I have to actively do the opposite."

So...
Once a day I thought up five good things about me. It would take forever to come up with that many, but I stuck with it.

Now I do over a hundred several times a day. Takes about a minute.

Recent examples:
I send my cousin a birthday card and a gift bag of candy
I made myself a big salad for lunch—very healthy and delicious
I gave the cats their flea medicine.
I did some beautiful drawings for my book project.
I paid the Visa bill on time.

Every morning and frequently during the day I take a minute to look on myself the way I'd look on a small adorable baby. (When I look at, say, my 10-month old great-nephew I don’t compare him to other babies or think, Hmpf! He didn’t pick up that toy correctly. I just groove on the wonderful, lovable boy he is.)

Loving and praising myself feels really stupid. But it's proved more powerful and healing than anything has before.

I'm not saying I'm all well--I still think negative thoughts. They've just gotten less and less frequent, with shorter and shorter durations.

Examples:
You may remember our cat died last week. My first thought: “If,two years ago, I'd taken her to the vet sooner, maybe she'd be alive today.”
I thought that for only about 30 seconds. Then “Oh Poe, that’s just self-hatred; give it up.” And I did.

After we buried her, I thought, “Gee I really didn’t check one last time to make absolutely certain she was dead. What if she wakes up down there?”
Had that one for about twenty seconds. Then: “Poe, she was stiff as a board. Let it go.”

You see, I couldn’t stop self-hating thoughts before because I was standing on a base of “Poe is bad, can’t do anything right, never good enough.” Now I am building a base of Poe is good, kind, lovable, and competent.

Welcome Baby

Well, I’m a Great Aunt now. On Wednesday Elisa gave birth to Oliver Yacov, 7 lbs. 13 oz. Haven’t even met this baby and I already love him; I don’t care if he has three heads.

And why is that?
1) I love his mother.
2) It’s my job.
3) What’s not to love?

This is how our culture reacts to babies.

While in Starbucks the other day I was watching a small boy, about 2 or 3. With total abandon, he was flapping around the store, grooving on everything—the food in the cases, the basket of water bottles, a napkin on the floor. I remember being his age, before fear and shame took over.

Likewise I could visualize him in 20 or 30 years, walking around like everyone else, deadened, shut down. How does that happen?

After all, when we were born, the whole world was thrilled, just like I am with Oliver Yacov.

An Interesting Exercise

To get a picture of what everyone said the day you were born, fill in the blanks:

“Did you hear? (Your mom’s name)______ had** a little ______ (boy/girl).”
“Oh how wonderful! What did they name (him/her)?”
“______________(your name goes here)”
“Wonderful!”

**or adopted

Now say it aloud.

Just think: They were all thrilled at our arrival. Then later we somehow fell out of grace.

I would like to suggest that it was diseased, insecure people who took away the sense of our delightfulness.

Well, it’s time to reclaim our birthright. Since nobody else will do it, we must be the Little Red Hen and start erasing all those lies about our inadequacy.

After all, what’s not to love?

Personally, I imagine a sweet maternal voice just behind my right shoulder, making much over me: “Oh Pody! I love this wonderful blog entry you’re writing! Look at you! Henry come watch Lyttle Poe write her blog!”

(Of course, to do this, one must overcome feelings of absolute stupidity or narcissism.)

But try it for yourself; let me know what you think.