Once upon a time, there was a loser called Paula, who could never be trusted to do anything right, who was a failure at everything, and who would never achieve anything any good. I would live with my parents forever, probably gain 500lbs and they would have to take care of me and no one would love me. Ugh. Pretty catastrophic sounding picture, huh? That’s around the time when I was genuinely felt friendless and alone, slept about 20 hours a day, and I was 17 and diagnosed with clinical depression. So now, let’s fast forward 30 odd years later.
Seriously, it is. And I do mean you should be happy. Remember that time in school when you called the teacher “mum”? Or that time you said goodbye to a friend in the street and realised you were both going the same way, and walked along in awkward silence? How often have you lain awake at night, torturing yourself over moments like those, that were like, a million years ago? (more…)
It really is. And I told my husband I’d forgotten to schedule a post for it, and he did a quick, sharp intake of breath, and looked all concerned. Piss taking bugger.
But the point of Panic Day is to recognise how bad it is for us, and that stress can knock years off your life; it’s a genuine reason to practice self care, and generally being a bit nicer to ourselves. In a world where we are constantly available and switched on, this seems impossible, but I’ve just had a radical idea. Put your phone down, in another room, and ignore it. You’ll be fine. *twitch*
And yet, every day I see clients that have such a downer on themselves, it’s no wonder their confidence is rocked to its core. Before we knew anything about other people’s opinions, judgements, thoughts and feelings, we were pretty much ok with ourselves. Unless, like me, you’re born with something like Autism that makes you feel apart and separate, you’re pretty much at one with everyone else.
It made me wonder. Do you listen to everything you hear? And do you believe everything you are told? Do you believe everything you tell yourself? Just because you think it doesn’t make it true .
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Once upon a time, there was a loser called Paula, who could never be trusted to do anything right, who was a failure at everything, and who would never achieve anything any good. I would live with my parents forever, probably gain 500lbs and they would have to take care of me and no one would love me. Ugh. Pretty catastrophic sounding picture, huh? That’s around the time when I was genuinely felt friendless and alone, slept about 20 hours a day, and I was 17 and diagnosed with clinical depression. So now, let’s fast forward 30 odd years later.
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