Treating myself with compassion

tonight i ate half a pizza in one sitting in a very short time span. that was a lot of pizza. 

why did i eat so much pizza? 

i have come to learn that we are all made up of many parts of ourselves. the adult me is often not the one in charge. tonight, it was my 3 year old self who decided to eat the pizza.

last night i saw a photo in an old book. it was a photo of me at my 3rd birthday party. 

look at my eyes. look how scared I am. 

that day, i faced trauma and ran from it, only to be shamed by my parents and told to go back and face it again. i wasn't asked why i ran away. i wasn't asked why i was so scared. no one hugged me, or comforted me, or took the time to find out why i would hide in my room crying at my own birthday party. instead, i was scolded and forced to return to the scene of the trauma. 

no one listened to that 3 year old little girl. no one believed her. 

she learned that day that she didn't matter. that she wasn't worthy or deserving of care. that she wasn't worth listening to. so she found ways to numb her pain.

and tonight she reacted to the trauma by making the adult me eat half a pizza. 

which then brought on a shame storm. (Brene Brown) 

i began listing all the things that i hate about myself. 

the list is long and possibly endless. and i wont bore you with the details. suffice it to say, it was an incredibly long list of every little detail that i hate about myself which only led to more shame. 

and letting yourself be swallowed by a shame storm only begets more shame.

a very wise woman, who is also a very dear friend, AG, said "your little part is severely hurting ... you can believe her. i can believe her. i DO believe her. So are you going to continue to slap her in the face with it? ... resolve to treat her better." 

this is my attempt at treating her with compassion instead of the rejection that she received that day. 

i am choosing to share this piece of my story ... i am choosing to give her a voice. she wants to say that she was scared. she wants to say that she was hurt. she wants to say that she was just as important as the guests at the party who she was told were the reason she had to get her ass back down the stairs. she wants to say that someone needed to ask her what scared her to the core. why she would hide and repeatedly kick the dresser at her own birthday party. someone needed to notice that her fear was REAL.

giving her a voice makes her feel heard. making her feel heard helps me to forgive myself for eating half a pizza. giving her a voice gives ME a voice. makes ME feel heard. 

and it is my way of showing myself compassion. 

xoxo

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