I was excited when people started reading my blog. I could see the hits start piling up, and every now and then I could see when someone really dug in and read every single page. I know those were My People, the people who really needed to hear what I had to say. That excited me. But I hit 500 page views, and my excitement started curdling. I would report my numbers to my husband. "550 views. Oh my gosh." His support never wavered. "That's great, isn't it!" "I guess so," I would shake my head. He never pressed, but I could hear his question. If my intent was to reach people, why wasn't I happy that I was succeeding?
This got worse as the numbers grew higher. The last time I checked about a month ago, I had 900 hits on my blog, and I was so uncomfortable, I stopped writing completely. I also had foot surgery, so I had another reason to stop and take care of myself (which is another thing that children of narcissists are NOT good at, but more about that later, oh so much more).
I let it go. I know enough about myself to know that sometimes if I push on something too hard, I'm going to break it instead of fix it. I had to let it incubate. I worked on other things, other personal issues in therapy, books I'd been meaning to read, and let my mind wander. And it occurred to me as I was falling asleep one night that my problem was exactly the same in my work life as it was in my blog life.
In my childhood, I was given very little love and attention, very little of what I needed overall - school clothes, books that fed my soul, even basic hygiene instruction. I learned to make do with whatever I was given. It made me a really good survivor in deprived circumstances. I am excellent at handling terrible situations. I can thrive in horrible environments and just get things done regardless of whatever is being handed to me.
So I'm accustomed to those situations, in work, in relationships, everywhere. I'm built to handle whatever. I know what I'm doing in those worlds. They're my jam. I get it. I buckle down, I manage, I make it great. But that doesn't mean that I don't deserve better. That doesn't mean I should stay in a crappy situation.
As my blog started gaining a readership, I became increasingly uncomfortable. Yes, my intent was to reach people, but my old feelings about not deserving any attention came flooding back. I was doing what I do best - writing well, communicating the things I know best, and helping people along the way. But it still made me massively twitchy to be seen doing it, to know that others were acknowledging my skills and enjoying my work.
I've been lucky enough to have friends who are supportive of my work here; they've given me positive feedback on this blog, and I've received other feedback as well, saying it seems like I know what I'm doing, I've come so far from where I was, handled so many issues so well, and I seem so together. I always smile graciously and try to tell them basically:
LOL FOREVER.
You never really get away from being in a dysfunctional home. You work on it as long as you breathe. You make HUGE progress, and the first step is knowing where you really came from. Once you realize your true origins, you can start moving away from home, literally and figuratively. You can rebuild yourself from scratch. But you will always find another piece, or the same piece, of shame, or guilt, or weird feelings hiding within you somewhere. The good news is that it's smaller every time. And you know how to deal with it this time. You've been here before.
I had to share this. I've been here before. You can get through this. I promise.
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