That nagging feeling something’s not right, never good enough

That nagging feeling that something’s not right, that you can never be good enough for “him/her,” that feeling that everything is your fault – if you would just be better.

And they tell you you’re not quite good enough.

But at least he/she doesn’t hit me.

But at least she/he is better than the last one.

But he/she says they really love me. They don’t mean to treat me so mean.

But they’ve been through so much pain, I hate to ask for anything from them.

What about your pain?

When did they get to become the dog that bites the caregiver?

When will you let yourself rejoice that somewhere deep inside, you still have a voice trying to speak to you.

When will you listen to that voice, believe your gut/intuition/senses and believe in you.

When will you take care of you?

Quit pushing down that feeling. Quit hiding from that voice. Quit feeling guilty for feeling. Quit accepting that “you are crazy”, “I didn’t say that” or any of the other lies you’ve been told.

Because that was you yesterday. Today’s a new day, need a new plan.

That Nagging Feeling

There’s always that nagging feeling in the back of your conscious, like shadows dashing, darting back and forth, just almost out of the peripheral view of your logical subconscious. It’s like they can’t get to the front yet but they want to be noticed. So they keep running back and forth just out of reach. You may not be ready to deal with their message yet but they won’t be ignored. When you’re ready, it’s as if you turn and finally see them. In the daylight, you wonder how everything was so grainy and subtle and impressionist before.

Suddenly, in focus, its not impressionist and misty. It’s ugly and humiliating. How did I not see it? But you forget the exhaustion, the optimism, the eternal forgiveness, the need to be wanted that never gets filled. You forget that you were constantly kept drained, exhausted, off-kilter. You forget the continual attacks on your very beings essence and value, your perspective and knowledge. You forget that sarcastic drilling out of belief in your own wisdom. Or even miserable minimal understanding.

You forget that you have been through emotional brain washing. By the one you trusted to love you.

I remember when things were starting to move from hazy discomfort to crystal clear and painful. Stabbing, mauling, cleaver kind of painful. The kind where you’re either going to full-on about-face and run like hell, fighting your way out; or you’re going to have to let the pain overtake you and finish you. You can no longer live in that narrow hole of emotional abuse.

Skipping the back story for now, my husband had hidden the invitation for the big celebration with his colleagues. The one where families were not only encouraged to be there but honored for coming.

And my husband, the supposed champion of my heart, was deliberately eliminating me from another part of his life. It wasn’t like I didn’t already know these people. We had been together through other similar events, laughing and sharing, talking for hours, enjoying the opportunity to celebrate whatever together.

But this time, when he could no longer hide his goal, my husband told me in a voice of certainty and righteousness, that he hadn’t wanted me there. You see he felt the his colleagues were “A” list type people. And that even though he considered himself to be just a high “B” list person, when he was with them, he became an “A” lister.

However, he told me that I was in no uncertain terms a “C” lister at best, maybe a D. He told me matter of factly, like reading the weather, that there was absolutely nothing attractive about me. Not one thing. Not my looks, not my talents, not my mind, not my personality.

In fact, he did not want me at the celebration with all of his A list friends, because when he was with me, that drug him back down to a C also. He had decided he wasn’t going to let me take away his chance to enjoy being an A lister, even if only for a night.

I wasn’t sure what to react to. The emotional sword he had thrust into my heart. Or the realization that he was so matter of fact, expecting me to realize the sanity and normalcy (in his mind) of this logical process.

He didn’t even make a ridiculous pretense of stating that he tried to protect my feelings by sheltering me from this knowledge by hiding the invitation. His only goal was to make sure I didn’t go. If I didn’t know about it, his goal was achieved.

It made perfect sense to him. My feelings weren’t even a gnat on the proverbial radar. He was in fact, angry that I had found out and attended. HIs joyful revelry was now embarrassment at having had to be seen with me.

That was when I knew I was done trying. I later threw away the beautiful dress I had worn to the celebration, hoping he’d notice and tell me I looked pretty. I was done trying to make this cart roll with no wheels. I was just done. I finally could see that giving the benefit of the doubt all these years was a mistake. I finally saw that it wasn’t all my fault as it always seemed. It was him.

And what was his take-away from this discussion he had with me? His feelings were hurt the next day when he found the dress in the garbage can. He told me I had not one thing about me that was any way attractive, and his feelings were hurt because I didn’t cherish that I had attended this event with him.

That was the day that a little sliver of light came into my life. A crack of freedom in the wall of condemnation built around me for so many years. A wall of boulders built by him, with me trained to fill in the grout. The grout made from constant revelation of my insignificance and flaws.

That was the day I knew it wasn’t me, it was him. And I was done slaving to the lies.