Confession: I am incredibly hard on myself. It keeps me up at night. I over-analyze the conversations I had and what I could have done better.
For as long as I can remember, I have been critical of myself. It started with not having any friends as a child. I would wonder what I did wrong and what I could do better to have a friend. I even had a book by "Girl Talk" "How to Make (and Keep) friends." I read the book, so many times it was dog-eared and worn, and memorized the talking points on how to affirm a friendship, or give comfort if your friend got a bad haircut. (#Preteen problems.) While my memorization skills were on point, being seen reading a book about how to make friends didn't win me any popularity points. This constant rejection from my peers and other influences increased my anxiety and deepened my depression. I was positive there was a lot wrong with me, and soon I had doctors affirming in the positive.
The sad thing is, I became so desperate for affirmation that having a psychologist talk to me and analyze me was comforting. I didn't realize the negative impact it would have, all I knew is adults wanted to know what I thought about. So I told them. All of it. Can you see where this is going?
A decade of psychotropics later, having convinced myself that my conscious was the one continually intervening in my thoughts, I still was nowhere close to the affirmation and self-acceptance I so desperately needed. I looked for it in the wrong places, and it led me to a lot of bad decisions (including my starter-marriage in Las Vegas when I was twenty-one.)
Sadly, now in my late thirties, I don't think I have made much progress. I still crave acceptance, and I'm always looking for that elusive best friend thatA accepts me as I am.
There are times that I 100% accept myself:
Eating after running/working out (screw you, calories!)
On a hike with my husband
Traveling. (These people aren't going to see me again, why not dance?)
But on a day to day basis, I am always wondering how I can gain acceptance now that I'm "out" as a Psychic Medium. It hasn't helped that my family's response to starting a business has been less than stellar. If I'm being sincere, (which I promised I always would be) announcing I was going to begin publically practicing as a "psychic" completely changed the relationships I had with my family members. Changed as in, we don't speak anymore. It has been like a bullet to my heart and the ultimate rejection.
With the rejection from my family, I am back to questioning what the heck is wrong with me. It intermingles with Podcast Nancy, who says, "Screw what everyone else thinks and Love yourself."
The Normal Intuitive is wise. (on iTunes and Spotify!)
Everyday Nancy? Not so much.
A friend messaged me last night. She had read between the lines of the latest Facebook live post I put up and asked if I felt like I was doing enough.
I answered back without thinking,
"I feel like I am in the middle of Times Square. Yelling out for people to notice me and no one is"
"I feel like no matter what I do, it's not good enough...."
"I feel like I have this incredibly Special gift that people are afraid of."
I've thought about my response to her simple question for the last twelve hours. I let my pain, vulnerability, and frustration, flow out when I answered. These feelings were about my family, for sure, and these are feelings I have kept deep down inside for most of my life.
I've never felt good enough.
Now, I'm running a business, a business I don't suck at. In fact, I'm a pretty darn, good, psychic medium.
Maybe, just maybe, the little girl inside of me thinks that if I become a significant success, those particular family members will acknowledge me, and give me the love and acceptance I so badly needed, and still need.
There is that feeling of inadequacy because I crave certain people's acceptance that I know I will never get.
My husband can tell me he loves me every single day. My kids can give me the best hugs and tell me I'm a terrific mom. It doesn't equate to the little girl that still resides inside of me, waiting for others to notice her.
I know I need to make peace with that little girl. I need to befriend her again, and tell her she is safe and so very, very, loved. I want to tell her that the voices she hears in her head are real, and some people surround her that are guiding her, unseen. I want to ask her to lower her expectations, but keep her heart open. I want to tell her not to take those damn psychotropic drugs and shoot for the moon, even if those around her don't think she can get off the ground.
I don't feel like I am doing enough because I won't let myself feel like I am. There is a part of me that feels I don't deserve to be satisfied, nor the success that is quietly growing. I am always hard on myself because that is how I keep pushing forward. Like a tug-of-war, I'm pulling the "rope of success" harder and harder.
This morning my friend messaged me again.
"In your mind, what does success look like?"
I think about when my husband and I spent the day early last October hiking in the White Mountains. It was the most grueling twelve miles I've ever hiked. The first peak we made, I looked down at a fissure that dropped 4000 feet below. My legs started to shake uncontrollably. My husband noticed and asked me to take his hand. I was so damn afraid, but I did as he asked, and I stepped over the 8-inch fissure. We scaled three peaks that day.
Three years ago I was supposed to go to Barcelona to catch a cruise, with a 48-hour stopover in London. It was the first time I was leaving my 18-month old son, and only the second time I was leaving my six-year-old daughter. I walked down the gangway to step on the plane and turned right back around. I couldn't leave my children, and I was so afraid of something happening to me. Twelve hours later I stepped back on the gangway, got a high-five from the gate agent (who had witnessed the previous night's freak out) and walked boldly onto the plane. My husband and I spent 12 days in the Mediterranean and fell in love with London to such a degree we took our kids back two years later.
Success is being afraid and showing up anyway.
Doing all of this-this site, blog, this podcast, the Facebook page- it's freaking hard. I regularly put myself out there to be judged, to be criticized, to be questioned, to be called names.
"I don't feel cut out to be a Psychic Medium, "I told my friend this morning.
"Not cut out? You are one, whether you share it or not!" She answered back.
And that my friends is my truth. I cannot change the genetic makeup that is me. I share my gift because it is not my gift alone, but for everyone I can help. It is given to me to help others, not to quietly hide. My challenge is to overcome the feelings of inadequacy and let go of the need for approval from outside of myself.
As long as I am trying in earnest to help people and following my own code of ethics (Never lie, mislead, or take advantage of others.) that is all I can do.
I must make peace with myself and this beautiful gift that I have.
At the end of the day, it doesn't matter if some people think I'm fake or unauthentic. It doesn't matter if people quote Leviticus and tell me I'm going to hell.
What matters is if I think I'm fake. (100% not. If I were fake, I'd make myself out to be way cooler than this.)
What matters is if I think I'm unauthentic. (I admit I sometimes try a little too hard and it may come off as unauthentic, but it's generally done in earnest.)
What matters is if I think I'm going to hell. (No, but then again, I don't believe in one.)
What matters is if I think I am misleading or taking advantage of people (I have way too much of a guilty conscious of doing otherwise.)
I need to start thinking about this ability I have as a psychic medium as the most beautifully wrapped gift from God. The paper is shiny, and the bow is exquisitely turned. On the wrapping paper, there are printed words from an old, ancient language: Aramaic, the language that Jesus spoke. Although I don't understand the words, they seem to lift up and touch me in my soul.
One day this will all make sense. Until then, I fill myself with love, acceptance, and gratitude.
I am grateful for this experience.