Discontent

In the recent moments of mental clarity I've been having, I've realized some things about myself. Things that I'm not particularly happy to have realized.

I've made a lot of mistakes in my life. Not that we all haven't, but for the average Joe, I've made some doosies. At least that's how I see it. But the problem is that I've let those mistakes define me. That's what I don't like.

Failure.

Screw-up.

Can't do anything right.

....worthless....

Those are the things I've said to myself, rather unconsciously, for years. Like I'm paying a pennance that I've given myself: to walk around feeling lousy because I can't truly accept Christ's forgiveness. I'll let Him forgive me, but I really can't forgive myself.

What would it mean to forgive myself?

What would it mean to be free of these labels? Of the dark cloud over my head.

Of the red letters Loser tattooed on my forehead.

But it's become comfortable, in a messy, disgusting sort of way. Like an old pair of slippers that you love, but make your feet stink everytime you wear them.

I'm not good enough.

A coworker repeated a phrase in a staff meeting not long ago. It resonated in my being like a clanging gong:

You're not who you think you are.
You're not who others think you are.
You're who you think others think you are.

I make every decision in my life based on what I think others will think of what I do/say/write, etc. That doesn't seem like a very good policy.

Hmmm...

I think I need to re-write my policy.