Liar, Liar, Pants on Fire

I do this thing.  I tell lies - to myself.

Sometimes the lies are comparatively small.  For instance,  even when I was quite athletic, I told
myself that strength training was not for me.  I tried it, and never saw improvement.  I see now that I wasn't willing to work hard enough.  And I know now that "hard enough" is plenty darn hard.  It turns out that when I train correctly, my body works like everyone else's.  I get stronger.

I tell myself that I can not run - roughly for the same reasons.  I don't try hard enough.  And I suppose that I don't have to; there are plenty of other forms of cardio that do the same thing and that I do like.  It's the language of "can't" that's worrisome here.  Wouldn't it be much more powerful to say "I choose not to."?

Sometimes the lies are more profound.

I told myself I should stay with my husband - that he didn't intend to be so casually cruel.  I worked hard at this one, and I was almost successful.  But, he did intend to be that cruel.  That much is obvious now.  What's worse, I didn't even know that I was lying to myself, although on some level I knew that my emotions and my words were not in alignment.  I could have put it all together, but I endured the life I had because I was afraid I couldn't withstand what was on the other side.  And, by the by, what was on the other side was hideous.  I wasn't wrong about that.  But it is becoming wonderful.  I'm almost handling it  Wonderful is becoming visible on the horizon.

I told myself that I could not manage life on my own.  I continue to tell myself that one, I suppose.  I have stumbled in spectacular ways.  This is undeniable.  But is it really true that I can not manage?  On some level, it doesn't get to be true.  I have to figure this out - and all the options are still in front of me.  And what on earth am I getting from continuing to tell this story?

I think my new favorite is that I am "at capacity-"  that I can't do more.  So, I can't get my eating under control, for instance.  I can't turn my house into the welcoming and calming space it has the potential to be.  I can't be a star in my profession.  I can't keep all the balls in the air; there just isn't enough time.  OK, any person should be selective about the number and general worth of the balls she is juggling.  And I do come home from work plenty tired, but so does everyone else.  But perhaps my dreams need to become more important than TV time.  I need rest and down time, right enough, but seriously.... how many episodes of "This is Us" do I need to watch in one sitting?

The list goes on and on.  But here's the thing.  This incessant chatter of "can't" and "shouldn't" and "nice girls don't," that's the talk of the super-ego.  The super-ego's job is to protect us and to keep our behavior in line with social norms, and what is known is almost always safer than what is unknown.  So, it starts doing its job when change is on the horizon or lands, unwelcome, in our laps.  But the super-ego can be wrong.  There can be false positives, and your whole self -not just your nervous-Nellie-ego- can be brought into a decision.  There's a frontal lobe for a reason ;)

So, from time to time, I need to gently thank this important part of my personality for its interest in my protection, but also tell it to hush for a minute while I think.