Today I Asked Myself About Rebuilding With Worth - Today I Asked Myself By Tess Bates

[EXCERPT FROM ESSAY TODAY I ASKED MYSELF MY STORY][I AM A WRITER, NOT A DOCTOR. CLICK TO VIEW MEDICAL DISCLAIMER]

A monumental, seismic shift inside happens when you first realize your worth. Shameful, hateful self-talk that had previously made sense before— that had shaken and scared me so bad that I felt I had to hide who I was—no longer had any power over me. For the first time, my past did not disqualify me from my worth, and shame could no longer convince me to believe otherwise.

Rock bottom had allowed me a new starting point, a foundation upon which I could begin building the framework for “who I was” without shame…

Which is daunting, like any “blank page,” “starting line,” or “new beginning” is. But I knew if worth wasn’t the cornerstone to rebuilding my life—the center from which everything else blossomed — I would fall victim to the same, reflexive, societal trap of measuring my worth on a sliding scale from failure to merit.

For instance, if you build a life contingent upon success, accolades, power, beauty, wealth, and good behavior, and place your worth on top of conditional circumstances such as those, any degree to which they change will cause your worth to spike or plummet accordingly. Ultimately, you let circumstances dictate “who you are” at your core. And you judge others based on the same criteria.

Alternatively, suppose you base who you are as the worst thing you’ve ever done or has been done to you. In that case, you will inevitably put a cap on your worth so that nothing and no one but shame can ever dictate how you see yourself. To learn and grow, you must separate all failures from your worth. The touchstone of empathy is this nascent self-forgiveness, the acceptance that wrongdoing can be temporary and not a contingency to our worth. To abide in a conditional world, where we do not evolve ourselves to heal or understand, is to live at the mercy of our past, forever. And we are all worthy of a future.

Worth cannot be earned or achieved. Worth does not have to be justified. Worth doesn’t have to be reinforced or acknowledged by the world to exist. Worth is locked-in from the get-go.

As a person who used her worldview, her past, and her failures as a metric of her worth to the extent to where I allowed shame to almost snuff me out, I can tell you from experience, the only time I have ever known true freedom was when I threw all of the shame’s faulty standards to the wind. To acknowledge our unconditional worth is to cut shame off at the source.

Although at ground zero of my rebuilding phase, I didn’t have quite so many words to describe my worth, the overall feeling was revelatory.

I knew “I am worthy” would have to be the first line of code I put into the system from which everything else was programmed. Not “I am worthy because…” Not “I am worthy except for…” Simply, “I am worthy.”

In turn, things in my life became much simpler. I could finally distinguish some of the red flags that my shame had previously disguised as normal.

I could more clearly identify who around me detracted from my worth, and who reinforced it.

Who judged and controlled me based on my circumstances, and who treated me according to who I was at my core.

Which advertisers sought to diminish my worth, so they could then “rebuild” me with their products.

Which churches reinforced shame, and which ones uplifted me into belonging.

What political campaigns perpetuated division for power, and what rhetoric spoke to our worth as a universal whole.

The list goes on and on, but merely knowing my worth helped me discern what still fit in my life and what was extraneous. There was no longer any need to contort myself into different versions just to appease the popular opinion. While the need to feel accepted is human nature, I feel like there’s a difference between surrounding yourself with people and things that make you feel authentic versus laying your self-worth at the feet of others, hoping in turn for acceptance. I had mistakenly hinged my life on this worldly approval, assuming worth could be earned. Come to find out, my worth was intact all along.

I had been afraid for so long to openly show those around me how deeply affected I was by grief. Fearful that I would be accused of soliciting sympathy. Ashamed of the fact that, while others my age were forging their life paths, I was stalled, reckoning daily with grief and depression. But why had I turned healing into such a shameful vocation? Why did I assume grieving and progressing were mutually exclusive? Aren’t they, in the rawest sense, the same thing? Also, when did depression and mental health become an indictment? Wasn’t I doing society, or at least corporate America and my future therapists, a favor by not backstroking in the denial that I was fine? (Or was that a prerequisite?)

At the heart of it, being “different” or “not normal” means being “unexplainable by typical standards.” It occurred to me, after a long time of trying to reconcile my experiences through the mainstream filter of normal and coming up short time after time, that my existence here, albeit anomalous, did not actually require an explanation. That any details I choose to offer about myself to this world should only be uttered as a way to connect with another person, but never as a defense for who I am. I do not require an explanation. I do not have to be held accountable for who I am according to society or someone else’s standard of normal. If I am not relatable enough simply for being human, it is not my job to bridge the gap. I will never again trip over myself to provide this world with proof that I deserve respect—gone are the lengthy soliloquies, the shame-fueled speeches where I trade explanations of “why I am the way that I am” in a desperate attempt for shallow acceptance. If you cannot see me foremost for my humanity, then you cannot see me at all. I do not require an explanation.

Upon further, deeper examination, I found that even if my journey didn’t measure up with the rest of the world’s, in truth, I had come out of the process as a better person. I have a literacy for grief, pain, loss, worth, and mental health that would have been incomprehensible to me before these four years of tragedy and struggle. I now understood that the dynamics that I used to assume instigated growth—success and achievements—have little to do with it. It is difficulty over time that generates strength. Perseverance that generates wisdom. Trials that generate understanding. Self-forgiveness that generates empathy. And all of the above that generate healing. Who was I to be ashamed of my journey when my experiences had been the catalyst connecting me to my worth?

It was around this time, while I was still standing on the shaky legs of my newfound worth, when I met the love of my life, the beautiful West Texas man who would later become my husband. He was a combat veteran, a former Marine who intimately knew trauma, grief, and all the ridiculous ways we as humans try to divert pain. We didn’t have to compare the symmetry of our pasts. We didn’t have to justify ourselves or dwell in the details because there was simply no need to explain what was already implicit; he had eyes that could see me, the real me—not despite my wear and tear, but as a whole composition—and I had eyes that could see him as well. No explanations were needed because the connection between us was real, and our relationship budded from the security of that freedom.

I felt happiest when we were together. Most honest. Most carefree. My laughter was genuine and came from a real place. For the first time, I could feel that my joy was not feigned but a derivative of something much greater—love. I finally understood that to wholeheartedly give and feel love had little to do with how unsullied I was and everything to do with showing up and connecting with another soul authentically. It was new territory, for my worth not to be on the line for this love, to grow and shrink in tandem with the turbulence of our relationship. My worth was intact, set, and the source that allowed me to give and feel love freely, without asking for it also to validate me. The day you realize you are whole and not missing anything is the day you stop trying to fill the void. The day I stopped trying is the day I found real, lasting connection.

Armed with this knowledge, I felt like suddenly, something inside began to solidify. Like molten iron that has been forged into steel, so too had my identity been reinforced by the confidence I found in my worth. I had brushed up against my inner strength, bringing forth a sense of stability I didn’t know I was capable of producing. Like how Rumi says, “Why do you stay in prison when the door is so wide open?” If only I had known, the freedom I was seeking had been inside myself this whole time, hidden behind years and years of misunderstanding. The door to life, love, and good things had always been open.

Knowing my worth is what revealed it all.

Until tomorrow,

Tess

Click here to read more of this essay: Today I Asked Myself My Story

Join the List

Latest from Instagram

Pages