Tuesday, February 19, 2013

Week 7: Forgive Yourself

Is this the hardest week or what? Now we face it--little guilt vs. BIG GUILT--and the hard work of forgiving one's self begins.

Guilt is a wonderful emotion. Like fear and anger, it is a signal that something is wrong, but now the problem somehow lies within. Appropriate guilt helps to motivate us to correct our behavior so that it is line with expectations from others and expectations of self.

When I was in high school, I started one of the first recycling programs anywhere (yes, I am THAT old). Dutifully I sorted cans and bottles and jars to meet program expectations and to live according to my values. But the unwashed cans and jars were a nightmare. Now when I throw away a jar of moldy sauce, I experience a twinge of guilt. I should open, wash, and recycle, but some days I lack the stomach or the time to do the job the right way. I rationalize that if I throw away only one in 10 jars that I am doing 10 times better than if I threw them all away, but the guilt is uncomfortable enough that I vow to take time with the next jar of expired salsa.

That's little guilt for you. It is manageable, it does not eat you alive, it motivates change for the better.

However, it may take some prodding from friends greener than myself to actually overcome my laziness and do what I promised myself I would do. Accountability buddies are invaluable when we are dieting, training, studying, practicing, writing, or engaging in any sort of self-improvement program. Sometimes we need a little help in getting over that little hurdle of resistance that whispers "I don't want to," "Maybe tomorrow," "Just one more (cookie, brownie, candy bar)," or "Do I have to?" Well, no, you don't have to, but if you want the results and the satisfaction the results will produce, you have to put in the effort. There are no shortcuts.

BIG GUILT is entirely different. It is a chronic feeling of not being good enough or worthy enough. It is as if you and you alone have been prohibited from ever making mistakes, struggling, or hesitating. "I must never be wrong, I must always be perfect, I must do this to be loved, I must take responsibility for everything that happens and always be in control" goes the internal refrain. Who is insisting it must always be so? Your Internal Critic, that relentless voice in your head that insists you are wrong no matter what you do, that whatever you do you will never be good enough, and that the slightest error will reveal your inherent worthlessness. The Internal Critic uses blame and shame to keep you stuck in a quagmire of self-doubt and paralysis.

The Internal Protector, on the other hand, is brave enough to challenge the Internal Critic. The Internal Protector is the voice that reminds you that everyone makes mistakes, that none of us is perfect, and that we are capable of taking action to improve our skillfulness and make amends for lapses in moral judgment. The Internal Protector gently encourages learning and growth and repair. The Internal Protector helps distribute responsibility among the many contributors to problems and makes it possible to "face the music" without fear of being singled out and humiliated. The Internal Protector permits self-forgiveness in being gentle and kind.

One of the nice things about getting older is gaining perspective. When I look back on my life, I marvel that I have come so far and learned so much. The younger person that was me was naïve, earnest, passionate, full of energy, but lacking direction, support and guidance. The younger me did the best she could given the circumstances and continues to learned her lessons slowly and surely. It makes me a softer, maybe fuzzier, certainly more accommodating person. It is a lovely state of balance when one's Internal Protector and Internal Critic are in harmony and working together to foster competency and wisdom.

A little poem from grade school:

The road to wisdom?
- Well, it's plain
and simple to express:
Err
and err
and err again
but less
and less
and less.
~Piet Hein, "The Road to Wisdom," Grooks, 1966