With Ourselves, We Have Nothing to Prove

Revelations for a New Year

hello again,

here i am writing to you at the end of this wondrous year, a few months after the publication of my first book Be Not Afraid of Love. i am reflecting upon the ways i have transformed, and realised that i haven’t written to you in a while. amid all this change and opportunity, i will always return to this newsletter as my first love.

i haven’t written much in the last few months at all. i have spent a lot of time promoting my book, embarking on an international book tour, feeling intense bouts of imposter syndrome, and cocooning for a while. publishing a book is no small task, and it took a lot of intention and collaboration to launch it with care. while it may have looked glamorous (and sometimes very much was), it was also very challenging and often tugged me across the fine line between spirit and ego. here are some honest reflections.

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the holidays are a difficult time for so many of us. it beckons us to be pensive and introspective about the past year and how we’ve spent our time. we cannot help but become swept up in the capitalist addiction of comparing our achievements to our past selves or even each other. we are forced to think of family, biological and chosen, and the relationships that make us feel cozy and safe during this time of hibernation and celebration. that brings up thoughts of those who also make us feel unsafe, even though we might feel obligated to see them. it brings up what we perceive as our failures and sometimes makes us push and punish ourselves. the holidays feel like a time of immense pressure, where we feel like we have so much to prove.

my therapist recently sat with me as i sobbed my heart out. i was crying over how i felt like i was failing in some of my close interpersonal relationships, especially with my family. i felt myself retreating and lashing out in the same ways i did as a child, and i was beating myself up about it, calling myself a hypocrite and a fraud because i had written a book about love and still struggle so much with practicing it.

she told me that a deep and unrealistic pressure for perfection has been ingrained in me since i was a child. when i make mistakes, i turn myself into a villain, and i use every crumb of energy i have to make up for my shortcomings. i try to become the best daughter, sibling, friend, and lover i can be. i bend over backward and compromise, and i agree through gritted teeth on things that i don’t want to do. i forget myself over and over again to appease people who have hurt me, to feel like i have some purpose in the world, and then i resent them for it. i am begging to be loved, and i am hurting myself while doing it.

i wept in frustration to my therapist, “i released a book! i achieved so many things this year! how is it possible that i still fail and fail and fail and still yearn to be loved? aren’t i finally loveable now?”

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i nearly forgot myself a lot this year, and i made a lot of mistakes. i also did many wonderful things, and so many of my dreams came true.

both those realities co-exist.

while the book was coming out, i fell in romantic love with a dear friend of mine, and i was challenged to look at myself with a mirror that i had left in the dust for many years. i had to confront some of the toxicities that still flow through generations of my bloodline; the very specific habits that only come up when i am intertwined in romance and am triggered by jealousy or a need to control my circumstances to not get hurt.

i thought that the release of my book would mean the release of a lot of my shadows. i thought my self-esteem would exist at a constant high, and that my anxieties about stability and safety would be settled. i thought that i had written a book about love, so suddenly i had to be the expert on it. i held myself to an impossble standard, just because of something i had accomplished. i thought i had earned my way to love. what i forgot was that once i completed the last page of the book, i continued to be the full, messy and miraculous person i was writing about. i continue to exist and have weaknesses. i did not grant myself the generosity i so often do with everyone around me; i make mistakes, no matter how many wonderful things i do.

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i want to recall one of the most profound experiences i had this year.

i went to my favourite monastery in upstate new york a month after the book came out. i was familiar with the meditation routines, though every time i have gone, i experience something new. we went on our usual walking meditation, a silent and long hike through a long unfolding trail. it was the end of summer, and while it was cooling down, there was still humidity in the air. there was morning dew on the ferns, and the moss was soft and bouncy beneath our feet. the sun was shining through the trees, and the heart-shaped lake was sparkling in its glory. the monastics led the way with every slow and steady footstep without saying a word.

it was difficult at first to immerse myself in the present moment, as it can be when we meditate. the voices in my head had been particularly loud, fretting about a new romantic relationship i was exploring, and all the anxieties i had about what else i could do for the book.

but after a while, the sounds of the forest flooded my being. all i could hear was cicadas in the trees, the sound of a gentle tinkering stream of water, and the soft whisper of the late summer breeze. i closed my eyes at times, trusting that my feet would carry me as the path of moss unwinded. i breathed with the rhythms of the Earth, and i felt warmth radiating all over my skin. my eyes welled up with tears. i felt so loved. i didn’t have to be anything but alive.

and suddenly, a simple thought came to me: what if i gave myself the luxury of having nothing to prove?

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recently i watched the quiet first snowfall of new york. it was magical, and i felt like a child again, full of wonder and awe. the city is very rarely quiet, and the only thing i could hear was the magical powdery snow falling gently onto the concrete, forming little precious mounds of ice. i felt at ease.

my greatest lesson this year: with me, i have nothing to prove. when i am in my own safety, and in the loving arms of those who have shown me what real love can be, i do not have to be perfect. i must be accountable, but i do not have to be flawless or put-together or high achieving. i have permission to breathe deep and cry deeper. i have full permission to make space for my liveliness, and furthermore, to honour my life. as in, not to fixate on what i have done, but to relish in the delicious truth that i exist.

i do not need to earn or beg for love. it already exists within me, and only recently have i understood how to access and nurture it. i continuously make mistakes, and i forgive myself for that too. i am learning how to share love with people without constantly sacrificing myself in the process.

i am proud of myself. it is a new feeling.

yes, for all my achievements, for the heartfelt book that i wrote, for the material dreams that all came true. but i am especially proud of when I have loved myself in my imperfection. when i have relinquished the idea of being the perfect person for everybody around me; the perfect daughter, sibling, lover or friend, but a person who is learning and trying their best. i am proud of when i had enough self-compassion to forgive myself for a difficult childhood, soften my edges, and give and receive love. when i no longer stood at resolute attention, thinking of how i can do better, how i can show up, how i can make myself useful; but to ease my posture, relax my shoulders, be quiet, and breathe, while the first snow falls.

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WRITING PROMPTS
I haven’t done this in a while, but I intend to bring them back. I would love it if you took some quiet time, so nothing-to-prove time, to write reflections as messy and stream-of-consciousness as you’d like.

1. HOW HAVE YOU BEEN TAUGHT TO BE PROUD OF YOURSELF GROWING UP? WHAT WAS IT MEASURED BY, AND DO YOU STILL HOLD YOURSELF TO SPECIFIC STANDARDS AT YOUR CURRENT AGE?

2. NOTICE YOUR BODY AND YOUR BREATH. RECALL A MOMENT THAT WAS QUIET AND ALSO PEACEFUL, IN WHICH YOU NOTICED SOMETHING BEAUTIFUL THAT YOU FELT CONNECTED WITH.

3. WHAT DO YOU HOPE TO FEEL MORE OF NEXT YEAR? NOT DO, BUT FEEL.

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