Keep Dancing

“I have nothing to say, nothing that’s worth saying. What gave me the idea that my stories, my experiences or points of view, were worth sharing? Nobody cares what I think or how I feel. It’s only a matter of time before they realize I’ve fooled them all into believing I was worth listening to. I should just give up now, stop wasting everyone’s time.”

This is the tape that plays over and over again in my mind on an endless loop. It’s my inner-saboteur speaking. She tells me I’m not good enough, not worthy or deserving, destined to fail. I grapple with her week after week as I try to write these posts, desperately trying to quiet her long enough for my real voice to come through, the voice she tells me doesn’t matter. I procrastinate and put off writing to avoid dealing with her; I put off writing because of her. She’s strong, fierce, not easily overpowered. Somehow I manage to break through, say what I want to say, but I’m left exhausted by the time I get the words out. It’s a never ending battle - I know her well, but she knows me too; she knows how to get into my head, what buttons to push. Just when I think I’ve got the upper hand, there she is again, nattering on in my subconscious. Her voice haunts me.

For as long as I can remember, she’s been a part of me. She’s the part of me that is afraid. Afraid of judgement, rejection, failure - the list goes on and on. I know she’s just trying to protect us from these things, but her hyper-vigilance is doing more harm than good; she’s holding us back, keeping us stuck; suffering. Her fear stops us from taking chances or trying new things. It keeps us from believing in ourselves, from experiencing true happiness, from finding peace.

I took a self-love course this spring to try to learn how to get rid of her for good, and what I learned is: I can’t. I learned that she will always be a part of me; she has an important role, a purpose. I need to learn to love her for what she is.

I love her fire, her resilience, her strong survival instincts and the way she refuses to back down. I appreciate her efforts to protect us. I know now that I need to teach her to identify true danger; I need to help her feel safe and know that just because something is uncomfortable or even a little frightening, doesn’t mean it’s dangerous. I need to make space for her, to allow her to be present without letting her take control.

It’s a dance, co-existing with your inner-saboteur. Your inner-saboteur is like your left foot and until you find a way to take control of them, find your other foot, you’ll always be dancing with two left feet. Writing allows me to rise above my fears and find my bravery - that’s my other foot. When I write, I dance with my fear with grace.

I may never be able to silence her completely, but I can learn to recognize her voice. I have the power to choose whether to listen to her bs, let her call the shots, or lovingly tell her to sit down and shut tf up. My stories are worth sharing; my brave voice deserves to be heard. I will not give up - I’ll keep dancing.