Inadequacy

Well, I'm back, at least sort of. I took a few days off to rest from a cold I'd aquired. It seemed to work because the last cold I got lasted two weeks; this one is about over. My immune system, from the anti-rejection drugs, is a bit depressed so I'm more susceptible to illnesses than some, I suppose. I hate it when I'm at meeting and people come up and give me a big hug then say "I'm sick." I need a t-shirt that says "If you're sick, stay away from me," but no, I wouldn't want to hurt anyone's feelings, would I?

Well, it's another one of those days. I'm feeling inadequate. I googled "feeling inadequate" today and came up with a pretty interesting post. It talked about creating chaos in your life to avoid having to slow down and take a look at yourself. I could easily fit in that category. Further, it said that fear is the absence of love. That's a new one on me. Our Basic Text says that "fear is lack of faith," but in my experience I can be both fearful and have faith, I think. There's plenty of times, especially in the past few years, that I haven't had a clue what was going to happen next, and I've still trusted my Higher Power to come through in the end.

God has always come through. I assume He's going to continue. So why do I struggle so much? Part of it stems, I guess, from childhood. I was the youngest of three brothers and my mom really wanted a girl that was, well, girlie. I was anything but. I was a tomboy, hung out with my brothers, junior rodeo'd, loved big dogs, wore my brothers' hand-me downs and in short drove my mother over the edge. I grew up feeling that I'd never be who she wanted me to be.

Part of the recovery process is looking at our childhood and feeling the losses associated with it. I had great parents, don't get me wrong, but like all parents, they were human and subject to great failings. Their parents were pretty dismal in many respects so they hadn't a clue how to parent. But before I could come to any peace about my childhood, I first had to grieve the losses associated with how I was raised.

When I had three years, a major change occured in my relationship with my mother. I was going to college in California at the time and I came home over Christmas to spend time with my family. For Christmas, I bought her an answering machine since they didn't have one. She opened the package on Christmas eve, took one look at it and said "Take it back; it's too expensive. Get me something that costs $10." I was devastated.

I took the machine into my room and fumed, basically, although I didn't say anything to her then. I figured I had two options. 1) I could take it back. 2) I could put it in the driveway and back over it, and that sounded like the better of the two options.

I called my sponsor and wailed about the situation. What I realized after talking with her was at the core of my feelings was the sense, the feeling that no matter what I did, I would never be enough to her. Who I was just wasn't enough.

The next morning, I told her that I loved her and that I would take the answering machine back. I also told her, though, that she had hurt my feelings. Her eyes welled up and she said "I never meant to hurt your feelings; it's just that you can't afford to give me such an expensive gift (they cost about $30 then, but hey, she didn't know.) We had a good cry and I came to the realization that the way our relationship was might never change. But I accepted the fact that how is was might be the best it would ever be. Acceptance brings about peace, and our relationship, of course, grew so much beyond my dreams for how I wanted it to be.

My adult life, though, this core belief, my friend used to call it the "believeable lie," that I was unlovable, has followed me. There are times when I feel loved and know in my heart that I'm a good person and that basically, as Stuart Smalley says, "People like me." But most of the time I struggle with feeling unlovable. It's my core misconception, I think, about myself. I think that's what makes me such a gypsy.

Yesterday I was talking with a gal who wants to move from Missouri back to New Mexico. I encouraged her to save money and move back, if that's what she wanted to do. "But then I'd be broke," she said. "Yes," I replied, "But you'd be broke in New Mexico."

I realized last night that picking up stakes and moving is a big deal to most people, filled with risk. It never has been for me. By nature, I'm a risk-taker. Moving and starting over is second nature I've done it so much. I never throw away packing boxes, just in case.

I have no idea what I'm rambling about. I do know this. I'm tired of the believable lie ruling my life. I'm tired of saying "Someday someone will love me." I have to begin by loving myself.