Less than two minutes after pouring a small portion of trail mix into a dish for my 15-month-old son, I noticed him strategically picking out the m&ms from the assortment of nuts, raisins and chocolate. I had to laugh in astonishment as I wondered how in the world he figured this out on his own within seconds of his first real trail mix experience. I had to hand it to him -- he's a smart boy. The m&ms are my favorite, too. Maybe it's because I spend most of my time with a one-year-old and adult conversation is often lacking, but I found myself thinking about the members of that trail mix family for days afterward. Why is it that the m&ms get so much attention? What's wrong with the saltier options? Don't they matter, too? You see, for most of my life, I've wanted to be more like the m&ms. Easily spotted, quickly chosen and deeply loved and sought after. But in reality, I'm more of the peanut-type. A solid supporting character, but maybe not the star of the show. My introverted, quiet nature has long attracted the really big, flashy personalities. It makes sense -- they like to lead, and I prefer following. They like to talk, and I'm a great listener. But instead of recognizing my supportive, reliable nature as admirable and necessary among the different personality types, I simply saw myself as not enough.
I can remember being as young as six years old and already comparing myself to other girls around me. I didn't just think that I should be more like them -- I wanted to basically adopt their personalities. I was always dreaming up ways I could be "cooler" than I was or fantasizing of finding the courage to break out of my shell and impress people in a way that lined up more closely with the extroverts in my life. I just didn't see how simply being me was acceptable. Somehow, I made it to adulthood without really recognizing what I was doing. I knew I had some insecurities, but I didn't really see myself as someone with self esteem issues until I was in my 20s and had a big, fat depression and anxiety diagnosis. It had always been second nature for me to direct my thoughts toward how I could change instead of how I could enhance the strengths that were already there. It didn't seem like that big of a deal.
A couple of years into college, my world changed. I began to experience true depression for the first time in my life, and without a foundation of acceptance for myself, fear began to take over. I didn't believe I was worthy of love, that I'd ever get married and that I really had any worth in general. Ironically, I started dating and married my husband during this period of time. Over the next six years or so, I experienced depression and anxiety on and off, but basically learned how to put a band-aid over it and found some coping mechanisms that kept me afloat.
It wasn't until I became a mother that I realized I really needed help. When I met my son, I never had to learn to accept or love him. I loved him because he existed. I loved him because he was mine. He brings me joy simply because he is around. Finally, something clicked inside me. If he has worth just because he is a person, I must have worth, too. And I never, ever wanted my son to think he was worth anything less than he was.
I'd gone to therapy a few times before, but only for very short periods of time and never with successful results. I considered myself to have enough close, trusted relationships in my life who I could talk to that I didn't think paying a professional was worth much of anything. However, through some spiritual and professional promptings, I found myself in therapy once more, this time in it for the long haul. Motivated by the desire to raise my son to be confident and happy with who he is, I determined I would go to therapy for as long as it was necessary for me to heal, no matter how much money it cost or how inconvenient it was. I can honestly say this is one of the best decisions I've ever made.
During my therapeutic endeavors in the last 8 months, I have finally learned that I don't need to change to heal. In fact, I need to do the exact opposite. I need to be myself. I need to love myself. I've made so many monumental realizations across different aspects of my life that all generally lead to the same thing: I have never felt like I am "enough," but I always have been. I don't need to change to be an amazing person. I already am one. This doesn't mean I'm remotely close to perfect or that I can't grow to become an even better version of myself. But it does mean that I'm already worthy of so much love, especially from myself. Learning this has been earth shattering for me. There's still a few issues my therapist and I are working through, and my depression hasn't magically gone away. It is a chemical imbalance, after all. But I feel so much more at peace than I have my entire life. I feel so much closer to being whole. And for me, that is enough.
I think that when we live with ourselves it's hard to see what we contribute. It's easy to see the assets of the sweet m&m-type personalities while completely missing the benefits of being a protein-packed peanut. But baby, when you pair the salty with the sweet, something magic happens. We know that we need all types of people to make it in this world, so why do we all try to fit one certain mold? We need everyone, including you and me. If anyone reading this has ever considered going to therapy to work through some mental health challenges, I highly recommend you go. And if you don't find the right therapist on the first appointment, keep trying. There is someone out there who can help you. In the meantime, I highly recommend this podcast and this book to help you through the tough stuff. Good luck, my friend. We can make it.
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