Shame has been on my mind a lot lately. Not me being ashamed, but the concept of shame. And how it wreaks havoc on people. 

It’s bad news bears, and I’m pretty sure you can’t convince me otherwise (although you’re welcome to try). I believe shame is something we are taught in childhood. It’s a manipulative tool used to control us.

It turns out it’s a lot easier to have someone patrol their own actions than having to do it all the time yourself! That’s what shame does. It forces people to patrol their own actions, but it’s at the benefit of someone else.

It’s not something innate within us. It’s about what other people want us to believe is bad so we don’t do it. One of the biggest problems with this is that it can absolutely destroy people. 

When we have shame around mental illness, vulnerability, physical weakness, it can lead us to not ask for help or what we need. And at times, it can get to the point where it literally kills us. Shame is toxic for the individual.

It is only helpful for upholding power structures. Again, it’s much easier to have people police themselves than to have someone else police them all the time. And please don’t misunderstand what I’m saying.

I’m not saying that we don’t need to have laws and consequences for our actions. In society, we need rules and expectations for how to live alongside one another. But we can have consequences for actions without shame in the equation.

Shame allows wounds to fester, become infected, and spread. The person who has shame around the trauma that happened to them hides from others and is afraid to get help. Which can lead to debilitating PTSD that permeates their entire life.

There is no room for shame if you want to learn to love and value yourself. It will get in the way of your personal growth journey every single time. So what do we do about shame?

Brené Brown says that the antidote to shame is vulnerability. We shine a light on the dark places that scare us, and bring all of that stinky, dusty stuff out into the sun and fresh air. Vulnerability hoses off all the shame until we are left with what really is rather than what we fear it to be.

When we face our shame, we can accept reality as it is. We can take a deep breath and see what we really have to work with. And then we can get to work moving forward with our values, our hopes and dreams, and the resources at our disposal.

You can start small, with the little flashlight on your phone. But I hope you will work up to shining that light so bright your neighbors complain. Let that floodlight burn away your shame and allow you to face yourself as the beautiful, flawed human that you are. 

Love you,

Jess

It’s amazing how much we accomplish WITHOUT giving ourselves credit for it. Getting out of bed in the morning is an accomplishment. Putting clothes on is an accomplishment. Taking a shower, walking the dog, feeding your children. These are all accomplishments.

We don’t think of them that way, often because they have become part of our routine and we don’t notice the energy we expend doing these things. At least not until our world turns upside down. Maybe we become depressed, suffer an injury, or fall ill, and suddenly those easy tasks become a challenge. 

When something like that happens, we tend to beat ourselves up instead of acknowledging how much we had been doing up until then. We say, “Jeez! Even getting out of bed is hard,” discrediting our efforts to begin with. We think that if we aren’t doing EVERYTHING ALL THE TIME ALL AT ONCE, then clearly there’s something wrong with us.

But that’s society’s insistence that we be productive in order to justify taking up space. The reality is that we are already enough as we are, and we do enough just by showing up in the world every day. Even if that means we wake up in the morning and roll back over in bed. 

Your worth as a human being is not made up of the things you do, the accomplishments you achieve, or your impact on society. You’re born with it, baby. Just like energy, your worth is conserved. 

Cars may depreciate in value, but not you. You’re just as valid and worthy as any other being on this planet. And you didn’t need to do anything to earn that. You just are.

I believe this deep in my bones, even though I often don’t think it applies to me. Ha! Aren’t humans funny? 

To believe something about other people but struggle to see it yourself. Again, an example of programming that messes with our view of reality.  But that’s ok. 

I can keep coming back to my understanding of other people’s worth, and slowly remind myself that I am worthy too. It’s ok that I didn’t accomplish every single goal I set out to accomplish this week. What’s more important to me is that I made a few people smile, enjoyed snuggling with my dog, and soaked up a little sunshine. 

Those things matter to me more than ticking off boxes on my to-do list. We are all human beings, not human doings. In the words of neuroanatomist Dr. Jill Bolte Taylor, “Although many of us may think of ourselves as thinking creatures that feel, biologically we are feeling creatures that think.”

One of the reasons I (and many other people) struggle to enjoy simply being is that business has been a way to ignore my emotions. It has been a way to disconnect from myself and drown out hard truths I don’t want to hear. But like any other addiction, it comes at a cost.

According to Mirriam-Webster, an addiction “is a compulsive, chronic, physiological or psychological need for a habit-forming substance, behavior, or activity having harmful physical, psychological, or social effects and typically causing well-defined symptoms (such as anxiety, irritability, tremors, or nausea) upon withdrawal or abstinence.” 

I think that definition does a good job of covering the meaning of addiction in its entirety. But to simplify, my rule of thumb is that an addiction is any habit that feels good in the moment, is used to run away from something else, and bites you in the butt in the long-term. Some habits function as an addiction for one person, but a perfectly healthy habit for someone else.

My main addictions are staying way too busy and emotional eating. Both of these addictions are habits I picked up during my childhood, and I have a pretty good understanding of why I have them. I’m working on tackling that first addiction.

When I stop being busy, I start to get very anxious. I tend to think of myself as being lazy or incompetent for taking a day off. I feel like a piece of trash. The existential dread sets in of “WHAT THE HECK AM I SUPPOSED TO BE DOING?!” I want to start climbing the walls.

But I can redirect myself by finding gentle activities that I genuinely enjoy. Taking myself out to brunch, soaking up some sunshine, enjoying a walk in nature, reading a good book, taking a bubble bath, snuggling with my dog. It’s taking time and patience, but I’m beginning to step off the hamster wheel so I can live with intention.

As for the emotional eating? I’m not ready to tackle that yet, and that’s ok. We can’t do everything all at once. It doesn’t work that way. 

I have a plan for when I’m ready, but I’m not there yet. And for once, I’m not beating myself up about it. I’m giving myself a little grace to focus on one thing at a time.

With that, I will leave you to remember you are worthy exactly as you are. And I invite you to gently explore the habits that may serve as addictions for you. Are you ready to begin pulling one of those threads?

Whether we realize it or not, we talk to ourselves all of the time in our heads. Sometimes we even talk to ourselves out loud. This is totally normal! 

Have you heard the saying you are your own worst critic? This is where self-talk really matters. When we criticize ourselves for every mistake we make, call ourselves stupid, fat, ugly, or whatever other number of horrible things we stay to ourselves, it tanks our self-confidence. 

Imagine if someone said the same things to you that you say to yourself. Would you ever talk to them again? Would you trust them to make decisions for you?

Part of building trust in yourself involves speaking kindly to yourself. This is actually one of the key components of practicing self-compassion. Practicing positive self talk can help you to respond more calmly in stressful situations, bounce back from difficulties, and build confidence. 

Ok, so how do you start incorporating positive self talk in your life? Psychologist Kristen Neff recommends you start by noticing you’re saying mean things to yourself. Before you can change how you talk to yourself, you have to notice that you’re doing it!

After you notice that you’re beating up on yourself, think about what you might say to your best friend or a loved one in the same situation. If this feels weird to you, you can start by writing it down.

Here’s an example of working towards positive self talk. Let’s say you trip and faceplant on the sidewalk. After the initial sting wears off, maybe your normal response would be to think “God, I’m such a clutz! I’m so embarrassed! Why am I so uncoordinated?!”

Now imagine if you saw this happen to your best friend, your mother, your child or whoever. You might instead say to them, “Oh sweetie, are you ok?!” And if they said to you, “I’m such a clutz.” Maybe you’d say back, “Don’t worry about it! Everybody trips sometimes.”

It may feel awkward at first, but the more you practice positive self-talk, the more it will become automatic. After a while, your first reaction to something bad happening will be a comforting word to yourself rather than a criticism or insult. 

The key is to be patient with yourself and keep coming back to it. You’ll still say crappy things to yourself from time to time. But you’ll catch yourself sooner, and reframe it more quickly.

Here are some other examples of negative self talk versus positive self talk to the same situation.

Now it’s your turn. Let’s say you’re out to dinner with your friend and you accidentally spill your drink all over their lap. What would you normally say to yourself and how can you reframe that as positive self talk?

When you look at her LinkedIn profile, Dr. Jing Mai was a woman committed to serving people, especially in healthcare and the sciences. Her earliest experience listed shows that in 2013 she volunteered for the Women’s Resource and Research Center in Davis, CA where she acted as a team leader for their STEM program for girls. From there, her resume shows continued engagement in her community’s science and health programs.

This compassionate woman obviously cared about providing access to healthcare resources to the underprivileged. She cared about improving healthcare literacy. What strikes me is that she even served as a Mental Wellness Student Coordinator to help improve access to the mental health services provided at UC Davis. 

Dr. Jing Mai died by suicide in her third month of residency. According to her sister, Dr. Mai struggled with insomnia, anxiety, and feeling inadequate after starting residency. She sought out mental health services and the support of her family. But ultimately, she is not here today.

A year ago last August, I was struggling with thoughts of not wanting to be alive while I was in residency. At first I brushed it off, but the more it lingered I realized I needed to get help. I, like Dr. Mai, started therapy, started medications, and reached out to my family. But that wasn’t enough for me. 

I remember thinking, “If I die, they’ll be sad for a while, but my friends and family will get over it.” My responsibility to care for my new dog kept me going. Lola is a rescue who struggled with reactivity, and I knew that if I died she’d be at risk of not having a home.

Low point.

Even though it scared the shit out of me, I talked to my program director about what was going on and requested time off. She encouraged me to go to seek more intensive treatment. We decided inpatient treatment wasn’t necessary since I didn’t have a plan to hurt myself, but I agreed to start treatment at a partial program. 

I credit my former program director, the partial hospital, and my dog with saving my life. After my intake, I was diagnosed with PTSD from my year in general surgery and depression. 

I entered the program feeling like a scared, piece of garbage. But along the way I heard from other people in similar situations who felt like. Some were also medical professionals who were struggling with their mental health. 

My therapist at this program was a phenomenal PhD student who had me start to question whether or not I really wanted to continue in medicine. We talked about the fallacy of sunk cost– where people keep sinking more time and money into something that’s not working and hope it will get better.

At first I resisted this concept – I had already spent 10 years of my life pursuing this career and had $200K in student loans from medical school. No one would hire me without completing a residency program! What the hell was I supposed to do if I left?

My program director and assistant program director checked in with me again to see how I was doing after I’d been in partial for at least a week. They told me I was absolutely welcome back after finishing my program. But then the assistant program director looked at me, knowingly, and asked, “Do you want to come back?”

It felt like she saw right through me and the facade I’d been trying to keep up. I felt so stupid for even thinking of the idea of walking away from this Ivy league training program that had literally been handed to me. But she was right, I really didn’t want to come back.

So after more discussion with my mental health team, I decided I would quit residency and take time to focus on my healing. Once I made up my mind to do that, even though my parents completely freaked out, it felt like I’d shed 100 pounds. 

I’m not going to say that this year since I quit has been butterflies and rainbow-farting unicorns. For a while I had to struggle with feeling like an idiot for leaving, and not knowing how to tell people about what I did with my life. 

But now? One year out? I feel like a new person. And I want other people to know that there are other options out there.

It doesn’t matter how much time, money, blood, sweat, or tears you’ve put into something. If the best thing for you is to walk away, your life is ABSOLUTELY worth that. I promise you that there are more options out there than you know.

When you make a decision that is best for you, I promise the shame won’t last forever. Nobody knows what they’re doing on this planet, so please stop putting yourself on a pedestal to think you need to have it all together.

Every single one of us has flaws. No one has all the answers, so you don’t need to either. The weight of the world is not on your shoulders– this is just a story that you’ve been telling yourself. 

So please. PLEASE. If you are feeling like you don’t want to be alive anymore because you’re so fucking miserable: get help until you feel differently. 

Start somewhere. Call 988, the national suicide hotline. Or 211, your local resource line to get you on the track to where you need to go. 

Don’t take no for an answer. Keep asking for help from different places until you get the help you need to be on a road that’s worth living. You are worth it.

If you’re interested in donating, here is the Gofundme campaign for Dr. Mai’s family.

So here I am, sitting in my dad’s recliner, lamenting the loss of my usual mobility. I have a new appreciation for people who deal with chronic pain on a daily basis and somehow manage not to be raging assholes. I’m also thinking over the relationship I’ve had with my body over the years.

It’s been a rocky relationship. When I was something like six or seven years old, some shit happened to me that I’m just starting to remember now. It led to me being at odds with my body.

I learned the harmful message that your body was not something you should enjoy or even like, but rather something you should be ashamed of. In second grade I started gaining weight, and by third grade I began to be bullied for the size and shape of my body. 

You’re going to laugh, but I remember when I was in middle school I thought I was a horrible, sinful girl for masturbating. I was so convinced it was a sinful thing, that I felt the need to tell my parents so I could atone for that sin. I sat on the couch with a blanket curled around me, crying in fear.

When I told them, they had to choke back a laugh. They’d thought something horrible had happened. My parents reassured me that exploring your body was normal and nothing to be ashamed of. 

But over the years I continued to struggle to embrace my sexuality and my body in general. I hated going clothing shopping, having photos taken of me, being in a swimming suit in public. I can’t think of a single time I truly felt at peace with my body. 

Every time I’d feel like I’d made some progress in my fitness journey, I’d see other people who looked better than me. Who were prettier, skinnier, stronger, more athletic. I let the comparison fuel the anger towards my body.

There was the acne, the rosacea, the heavy periods of doom every month. My short, wide feet. My eyebrows that stopped too short on my face.

My senior year of college I gained more weight as I struggled to find my place in the world. That’s also when I started having acid reflux. I was miserable. But I kept pushing through, and just started myself on over the counter medications. 

Last year I was diagnosed with a precancerous lesion of my cervix on my latest pap smear. God I hated my body. What good was it anyway?

My body felt like a never ending source of shame and embarrassment. But when I hit a wall with my PTSD, I realized I couldn’t keep beating the crap out of myself anymore. It wasn’t working.

As I began to face the PTSD, other pieces of my life came back to me. I started to remember things from my childhood. These stories I’d carried with me my whole life weren’t really mine to carry. 

The memory of what happened to me when I was 6 or 7 started to come back. Part of me feels like maybe I’m just imagining it. But there was a sense of relief and grief that came with it.

My body gained weight to try to protect me. It was providing a buffer from the rest of the world. And yet I’d hated it instead of recognizing it was trying to help me.

It wasn’t laziness, lack of motivation, or stupidity that kept me from losing and keeping off the weight. My body was holding onto trauma for me until I was ready to process it. And in a society where processed food is easier to come by than fresh food, where high fructose corn syrup and wheat products are everywhere, and business is prized over wellness, it’s really not that surprising. 

Hating our bodies does absolutely nothing to help us. It only hurts us. They do so much for us, even when we don’t consciously see it. 

And whether we like it or not, as Sonya Renee Taylor points out, we experience our entire life as a body. We live and breathe and walk the planet in a body. There’s no getting away from that until we’re dead or scientists learn how to upload our brains into mechanical bodies.

So I would argue that one of the most important things we can do in our lifetimes is come to love our bodies exactly as they are. Fighting our bodies only puts money in the pockets of businesses that take advantage of our insecurities and try to keep us there.

It’s time to change that relationship. Every day I’m going to try to list the things I’m grateful for that my body does for me. My body lets me pet and play with my dog, hug my family and friends, see gorgeous views, smell delicious flowers, and walk along new paths. 

What does your body do for you?

Antidepressants don’t work well for everyone, but when they do work, they’re a godsend. Especially when you combine them with therapy and making changes to your thoughts and actions. Healing happens when we allow ourselves to rest, surround ourselves with low-stress, nonjudgy people, and take the time to listen to what we really need. 

We have to get out of the overwhelm before we can start healing. For those of us that judge ourselves for “being lazy”, this part can be the hardest. We want to go go go, but that’s not what our bodies and minds need when we are overwhelmed. You have to just STOP.

One of the things that sucks about PTSD is that it will creep into your day when you’re least expecting it. Yesterday my brain made the connection between the word Park and one of my former attendings. Suddenly I was back in that program. 

Once the triggers start, they tend to keep pulling other memories and feelings. But I’ve been learning not to judge myself for it. When those moments happen, I take a deep breath and remind myself that I’m not in that hospital anymore. 

I remind myself that I never have to go back to medicine or work at another hospital if I don’t want to. Then I take stock of the good things in my life and think about how far I’ve come already. I try to ground myself in the present moment. 

It’s getting easier. The more I keep gently coming back to the traumatic memories and untangling the connections with my childhood, the more I heal. One little baby step at a time.

Going back to the creativity bit, I want to share one of the thoughts I had yesterday. I know I’m kind of all over the place today, but who cares?

What if shame (along with guilt, embarrassment, and humiliation) is something we learn rather than being born with it? I’m no Brene Brown (the master of shame research), but hear me out.

When we look at little kids, they experience a whole bunch of emotions: anger, fear, sadness, joy, envy. But what about shame? I don’t think so. 

I think shame is something we learn. It’s something we’re socialized to experience. Shame is used to control people: from kids to adults.

There is a difference between learning there are consequences for our actions and learning to be ashamed of our actions (and even thoughts!) Shame keeps us in our place and prevents us from being too much or from asking too many questions. 

So who benefits from shame? Systems and people in power with authority. They benefit from people being weighed down by shame. 

Because when we decide to let shame go, what might happen? We might be more creative and innovative. We might demand better. 

And all of that leads to disruption of the status quo. Which is bad for those who want to keep the status quo humming along at its mediocre level. They benefit from keeping the rest of us small. 

I invite you to do a thought experiment. How does your shame help you? Can you think of any one good reason it benefits you? 

And then I’d like you to ask yourself, what would you do if you weren’t ashamed of anything? Who would you be? How would your life be different?

I’m really interested in what you think about shame and what your answers are to those questions. Leave a comment and let’s talk about it!

I woke up this morning and saw in the headlines that Neena Pacholke, a 27-year-old news anchor in Wisconsin, had died by suicide. In the article title it said, “She Radiated Love and Positivity”. After reading through the article, I knew it was time to journal about the stigma surrounding suicide and suicidal ideation.

Many of us have heard that when the news talks about suicide, it puts other people at risk who are thinking about suicide of completing it. What I don’t think we talk about is that, by placing a stigma on suicidal ideation (having thoughts of not wanting to be alive), we actually further alienate the people who are struggling with those thoughts.

When society tells you that you are wrong or bad for having suicidal thoughts, and slaps a label on you as being mentally unstable, it wouldn’t surprise me if many people are less likely to seek help. Because while you may be having thoughts of not wanting to be around, you probably have other pressures that scare you about coming forward for help.

If you are seen as the competent, optimistic person who everyone else goes to for help, it can feel impossible to find someone else to rely on. Even worse, when you do reach out for help and your request is rejected, you sink further into feeling alone with the weight of the world on your shoulders. 

I had mentioned at the end of my first journal post that I was struggling with suicidal ideation after moving to Rhode Island. At the time, I turned to my best friend to try to talk through these things. But she started to tell me she didn’t have time to talk, or would put my phone calls to voicemail. 

When I talked to my parents about needing help, they were fearful it would go on my permanent record and jeopardize my future job opportunities. I was terrified to approach my program director about what was going on in my life, but I knew my brain was struggling and I needed to advocate for myself. 

After joining the partial program, we had daily group therapy sessions. On one day, the topic of suicidal ideation came up. I remember my shoulders going up to my ears and fearing that we would all be immediately sent to the hospital for talking about our thoughts.

What happened was a phenomenal conversation about people who were struggling with something that was seen as taboo, and had a safe space to discuss it with each other. I was struck by how many of the people in this group were the go-to person for others in their life.

These people were the ones everyone else turned to when they needed help. They were the “responsible ones” who had to have it all together all the time. Many of them felt like they had to be strong and put on a happy face for their friends, family, and coworkers. 

And yet they were struggling the most. Because when you’re put in the position of having to be everything to everyone else, it often feels like there is no one to help take care of you when you need it. 

No one notices that you are struggling because you’re so good at masking. The burden of getting help falls on you, even when you can barely get out of bed in the morning. 

If you identify as one of the people, this is my message to you:

Did you want to see me broken?

Bowed head and lowered eyes?

Shoulders falling down like teardrops,

Weakened by my soulful cries?

Does my haughtiness offend you?

Don’t you take it awful hard

’Cause I laugh like I’ve got gold mines

Diggin’ in my own backyard.

You may shoot me with your words,

You may cut me with your eyes,

You may kill me with your hatefulness,

But still, like air, I’ll rise.

I want to dive deeper into the thought of how we hold ourselves back. Perfectionism in particular, has been the bane of my existence. And I know I’m not alone in that.

Those of us who struggle with perfectionism once saw it as something to be celebrated. Sometimes we wear it like a badge of honor, as if it is responsible for our accomplishments and superior work ethic. But that couldn’t be farther from the truth. 

Perfectionism is a soul sucking, creativity killing, joy smashing piece of shit. 

It causes you to constantly compare yourself to an ideal you can never meet. Nothing is bloody perfect, and yet those of us that struggle with perfectionism will exhaust ourselves with needing the product of our efforts to be “just right.” 

We wait until the timing is just right, enough people agree with our ideas, or the stars are in precise alignment. But what good does that do us? Not a damn thing. 

Perfectionism is an excuse to let our fear sit in the driver seat of our life. It prevents us from taking chances and being brave enough to really live. We think it will save us from being embarrassed, judged, or criticized.

But it doesn’t. Those things will happen no matter how hard we work, how closely we pay attention to details, or how precise our craft is. 

Judgment from others really doesn’t have anything to do with us. It has much more to do with the person doing the judging. When we claim responsibility for how other people feel about us, we keep ourselves small and afraid. 

Ok, so how do we go about breaking free of perfectionism? You’re not going to like it, and I know I don’t. You get ready to fail.

To combat perfectionism, you stop when something is “good enough.” You turn in your half-assed attempt. You try something even though you know you are going to suck at it.

You fail, again and again, until you realize that failing isn’t as scary as it’s cracked up to be. The world doesn’t end. People may make fun of you for a while, but then they move on to more exciting (or mundane) things in their lives.

Overcoming perfectionism is realizing that people don’t pay as much attention to what you’re doing as you think they do. They are too busy with their own insecurities and busy lives. 

This is why I’m writing and posting these journal entries publicly. To push myself to confront my perfectionism head on. Nobody is really going to care that much about what I have to say.

Some people might be marginally offended by my swearing, or majorly offended by a stance I take. But so what? I have a right to show up imperfectly and take up space, just as much as anyone else on this planet.

Hi, I’m Dr. Jessica Simpkins and I quit residency with $200K in student loans. I’m unemployed, have little money in my bank account, live with my parents, benefit from Medicaid, and struggle with PTSD. 

These facts don’t even begin to capture all of who I am. They are only part of my journey.

Go ahead and judge me. Be my guest. There’s nothing you could say to me that I haven’t already said to myself. 

I’m not hiding behind the mask of perfectionism anymore. You’d better bet I’m going to keep falling on my ass as I move forward, but I will keep getting up. I will keep learning from each and every failure. 

And every time I am reminded that I am enough without needing to do or be something more than who I am, I will only get stronger. Resilience is the antidote to perfectionism.

How many of us as adults still struggle with the wonky, corrupted programming we inherited? Or grieve the things we were meant to receive as children but never did? 

In The Drama of the Gifted Child, Alice Miller talks about how parents often unintentionally pass along the same fears and insecurities they received from their parents. If I take a deep breath and look closely at my biggest fears in life, I can trace them back to my childhood. 

My father grew up with his father encouraging greatness. He told my father he could even be the president of the United States one day. My father talks about the immense pressure he was under and feeling like he would never measure up . Unfortunately, he passed along those same fears to me and my brother.

My dad struggles with perfectionism. He can’t seem to help himself when he sees someone doing something suboptimally or talking about an idea that hasn’t been completely fleshed out. This has fostered fear in me that I will never be good enough, that I won’t live up to my potential, and that I should think twice about trying new things unless I intend to master them. 

Then there’s my mother, who grew up with two emotionally unavailable parents who both struggled with anxiety. My mom felt like her mother’s love was conditional. She grew up always feeling unworthy and like she needed to prove that she was worth loving.

Throughout my childhood, my mom was always a whirlwind of activity. She worked a lot, suffered from insomnia, and always had to keep moving. Her constant drive to stay busy and prove her worth to others often left her emotionally unavailable to her family. 

I learned that business was akin to godliness, striving to achieve was more important than caring for yourself, and emotions were meant to be set aside and not discussed. I too grew to believe I must prove my worth to be valued and loved. 

I’m only recently starting to see how this early programming has caused me a lot of pain. Looking back, I sometimes wish I’d had friends like Christopher Robin and his merry animals, or that my next door neighbor was someone like Mister Rogers. 

As children, we need someone in our lives to teach us that we are worthy of love exactly as we are. Someone to help us see that we don’t need to change ourselves to be valuable. A mentor to show us that we don’t need to aspire to be anything other than ourselves in order to be loved and seen.

Unfortunately, Alice Miller states in her book that whatever needs we didn’t have met as children, we can never get as adults. As adults, we have passed those formative years in which our brains develop. But what if there was a way for us to have a sense of unconditional love even as adults?

A few weeks ago, I was doing the same grounding meditation I’ve been practicing on and off for the past few months. I’d been thinking about The Drama of the Gifted Child and reflecting on the emotional needs I didn’t have met as a child. But this time when I sat down to meditate, something changed.

The meditation usually starts with sitting or laying down and imagining roots growing from your sacrum down into the earth. Your roots grow and stretch all the way until they reach the Earth’s warm, molten core. Warm energy flows up these roots and throughout your body, helping you to feel grounded and connected to the Earth.

That day when I sat down to meditate, my mind conjured something different. As the energy started to flow upwards through my roots, I imagined the Earth as Mother Earth. In my mind, she had long flowing hair and a gentle, warm smile. 

She held me in her arms, rocking me gently as she told me that she loved me very much. Mother Earth told me there was nothing I could do that would make her stop loving me.

She told me she was always there for me, and I could visit her any time. 

Tears streamed down my face as I imagined her warm, loving arms around me. I lingered in this radiant space for several minutes. After basking in the love of Mother Earth, I turned to the second part of my meditation. 

Normally I would imagine a beam of bright, white light coming down and pouring over my head and all over my body. But this time I imagined a celestial father beaming down at me with the biggest smile on his face. 

He leaned over to kiss me on the crown of my head and told me it didn’t matter what I did or didn’t do; he would always be proud of me. He would always be there to cheer me on and support me. 

Brilliant, vibrant energy flowed through me. My heart felt like it was wide open and shining for the world to see. I believed in that moment that I could do anything and I would always be good enough. 

It was the most healing meditation I’ve ever experienced. I was filled with love, hope, joy, and a deep sense of belonging. No matter how small or uncertain I felt, I knew I had the love and support of my divine parents.

This connection with divine mother and father energies is ancient and has been described across countless cultures. In Hindu mythology, the divine masculine and feminine are represented by Shiva and Shakti. According to Greek mythology, Gaia is Mother Earth and Uranus is the sky father. And in Māori mythology, Ranginui is the sky father and Papatūānuku is the earth mother.

Since that first meditation, I have had more liberating experiences. In one meditation, Mother Earth and I swam in a pool below a waterfall together. In another, she sat me in her lap like a child and brushed my hair while butterflies floated around us and birds sang to us from the trees. 

Each time I feel that sense of peace and love, and I am amazed I can tap into it whenever I want. Some days my mind is too distracted and I am not able to get back to that place without getting pulled away. Other days I forget entirely to take five minutes to ground myself and connect with Mother Earth and my divine Father. 

This meditation hasn’t solved all of my problems, nor has it eliminated all of my negative self-beliefs. I often feel unsettled and worried about what direction to take in my life. But I’m starting to believe the idea that just being myself could be good enough. 

A little seed has taken root in my mind and grown a tiny sprout. Maybe I really can pursue what brings me joy and not worry that I won’t live up to some spectacular plan. Perhaps I can express myself however I see fit and people will still love me. 

This meditation is opening up space for those early childhood beliefs and fears to be washed away and reprogrammed. What childhood programming is holding you back? If you try this meditation, I would love to hear about your experience with it!

And then came middle school. Does anyone really enjoy middle school? Boys and girls going through puberty, feeling awkward in their bodies, and having to interact awkwardly with one another.

In sixth grade I was told by a boy that I shouldn’t talk to him until I’d gone to a beauty parlor. Later that year an attractive eighth grader asked me to be his girlfriend in front of his friends and they all started laughing. Oof.

Let’s not forget the unique torture that was gym class. I’d huff and puff whenever I was forced to run thanks to my exercise-induced asthma and my face would turn beet red. Students and teachers always commented on how red my face was. Oh the joys of having rosacea.

I grew up watching my mother criticize herself and her appearance. Between observing how she treated her body and being bullied by my peers, I came to hate the reflection looking back at me. I despised my body, and in many ways, I came to despise myself.

I started wearing makeup every day to hide my splotchy red face. My relationship with food was out of whack. Eating sweets was one of the few things that would make me feel better in the moment, but I struggled to find moderation.

I tried countless diets, joined many different exercise programs, and recruited my friends or family members to be my accountability partners. I would start off really committed, but after a while I would fall off. Instead of getting back on the horse, I’d berate myself and just give up altogether. 

The older I became, the more conscious I was of the space my body took up in public. I avoided having photos taken of me, and I stopped going to the swimming pool because I hated how my body looked in a swimming suit. 

The summer before my junior year of college, I taught Zumba classes three times a week AND attended a fitness boot camp 6 days a week for 10 weeks…but I still didn’t think I was thin enough or pretty enough. I saw myself as this awkward, fat, ugly woman that was only passable when I wore makeup.

I was so envious of one of my friends. Guys flocked to her whenever we went out. She was bubbly and gorgeous. Everyone loved her.

Meanwhile, gentlemen old enough to be my grandfather would eye me or grab at my ass. Not cool, guys. Not cool.

Online dating in college was a mixed bag. One guy told me I was fatter in person than in my photos. Another man told me he was “into bigger women.” Every time my body size was brought up, I felt ashamed and disgusted with myself. 

When I was 27, I started reading The Body is Not An Apology by Sonya Renee Taylor. In the intro, Taylor writes about a friend who is disabled and became pregnant after having unprotected sex. The woman felt like sex was hard enough with her disability and she didn’t want to make it worse by demanding her partner wear a condom. 

At that moment, Taylor says to her, “Your body is not an apology. You do not use it to say ‘sorry for my disability.” With that conversation, the idea for her book was born.

Taylor argues we shouldn’t settle for measly self-acceptance, but strive for radical self-love. She makes many connections about how our advertising and media has led countless people to feel label their own bodies as wrong.  

Taylor writes that we are constantly comparing ourselves to the “ideal” body, which is often straight, White, land-owning, male, thin, and able-bodied. In all the ways we don’t meet that ideal, we think there is something wrong with us. And we will contort ourselves in any number of ways to get closer to that ideal.

But that ideal does not serve us. It doesn’t bring us more joy, love, security, or prosperity. It takes us farther and farther away from who we really are.

I am madly in love with the fact that many plus-sized femme content creators are showing themselves wearing whatever they want, from crop tops to bikinis. And masculine creators show off dresses, skirts, nail polish, and heels because it brings them joy. Watching these people love their bodies gives me hope that I can grow to love mine too.

While you won’t find me wearing a crop top (yet), you will see me rocking a tank top and shorts in the summer. Now I go to the pool when I want to rather than hiding away. This year I even took a few modeling classes, just because I could. 

I keep inching closer to the radical self-love Sonya Renee Taylor talks about in her book, but for now I will settle for a bit of self-acceptance. I love my smile, my bright eyes, and my thick caboose.

What parts of your body have you learned to love? Leave a comment below!