I don’t believe in regrets. Everything I have done in my life, every decision, every detour has served me with gems of growth.
But there is one potential regret that terrifies me: The regret of coming to the end of my show without singing my song. In my relationships with others and with myself. And in my art.
But first, the back story: I was a child who was in fear and pain. Like, most of the time.
Fear and pain I inherited from my parents, who both grew up with the trauma of having alcoholic fathers.
My family had fun, silly, adventurous times, yet I keenly felt the sad, dark cloud of pain hovering over our hearts.
We were dependent on our survival strategies we hoped would keep us safe: The perfectionism that would shield us from a painful criticism. The disconnection from our own and each other’s difficult feelings for fear of emotional chaos. The muting of our authentic expression for fear of being judged. The burying of our repressed anger.
In middle school, I wanted to be a psychologist so I could figure out what the hell was going on.
Instead, I followed my love - art. I felt safe in my relationship with art. Art listened to me. It loved what I loved. It loved me. Being an artist made me feel special and brought me love.
Here’s the thing about all relationships however - they are really between us and ourselves. They are always a reflection of who we think we are on the inside.
So when I wasn’t feeling the love for myself, I relied on a relationship to confirm my lovability. When I felt like I sucked, I looked to my art to give me value. I wanted them both to keep me safe, but they just ended up reflecting the unsatisfying relationship I had with myself.
Fear of being oneself is a creativity killer. Perfectionism chokes the life out of love. I have painted with joyful expression only to paint over that raw, authentic energy. I have obliterated the most genuine expression of my voice in search for that Holy Grail of ‘Never Doing Anything That Anyone Could Criticize’.
My partner, also a painter, after seeing that I choked the life out of yet another painting, once said something that hit a deep cord of truth in me: “For someone who cares so much about being seen, you sure do a good job of hiding yourself.”
Well, shit, I thought. I have a codependent relationship with my art. I am needing it to do for me what I can’t do for myself: To love and accept myself from the inside out. Because loving myself and my art is an inside job. No one and nothing can do it for me.
It kills me to think of how many wild beauties I tamed the life out of. And now I am committed to never doing that again.
I’m a paradox. For all my vulnerabilities, I am emotionally brave. I can’t tolerate the confinement of my fears, the limitations to my growth. If I truly wanted to live in a womb of perfect safety, I would never have accepted most of the challenges put before me. Like a lobster that has outgrown its shell, I cry and chaffe until I have cast it off. But I only decide to shed my limitations when I allow myself to deeply feel the pain they cause me.
As Joseph Campbell wrote, “The cave you fear to enter holds the treasure you seek.”
The treasure I seek is ME in the fullness of my expression. To love my genius and my growth shitshows equally, in my life, in my relationships and in my art. That’s the treasure. It leads to true satisfaction and freedom.
And so, I say this again: There is one regret that terrifies me: The regret of coming to the end of my show without singing my song. In my relationships with others, with myself and in my art.
I am not having that.
The universe put me here to sing my own unique song - lovable simply because it is - outloud for everyone to hear. To paint my love with abandon, for everyone to see. Fear be damned.
This is also why I love my work as a coach. It is calling me to hold sacred a most loving belief in myself, in my inherent worth and in my gifts. I don’t succeed every day. But I have learned how to hack the shit show of shadows that think they are keeping me safe by wanting me to play small. Who wants that? I don’t.
The Universe put you here to sing your unique song- and you have one. It loves what you create. It wants what you want. Because you are it and it is you. Are you ready to bring your fully expressed YOU to your relationship with yourself, with others, and with what you create? Yes, you are.
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