"Yes, my little angel, tell me all about it, Metie will translate it for you. No? Really? Is that what you want to say, that you want a high five from your Metie? Your wish is my command, sweetheart. Is that good? Hmm, maybe not quite? Would you like to be held differently? There, that's better, isn't it, with your little head a bit higher. There you go, just rest well, you are safe. Mommy, Daddy, and Metie are all here. Sleep peacefully, just close your eyes. One more little kiss, and you can go to dreamland. Go ahead."
The day before yesterday, I got to meet my newborn godchild for the very first time, and this was how our first conversation went. A lot of grunts and groans from her side (a nine-day-old baby does not exactly have a whole vocabulary at her disposal just yet), and a lot of sweet words from mine. What stood out was not the way she communicated, but rather the way I did. So soft, so sweet, with humor, and completely in the moment.
The difference with how I had talked about myself to someone else just a day earlier was striking. That conversation went like this:
Me: 'I am such a STUPID C**, aren't I!!!'
A: 'Nathalie, you are really not a stupid cow.'
Me: 'Oh, but 'cow' wasn't the word I had in mind! I had a much worse word in mind!!'
The question I am asking myself today is: Why? Why do I talk to and about myself like that? Why can't I be as sweet, soft, and tolerant with myself as I was with my godchild a day later?
About ten minutes after my little godchild had closed her eyes, there were suddenly a few more grunts, and then all of a sudden a whole gulp of milk. Straight from her stomach, and all over her clothes. My reaction was not: 'Stupid baby, what are you doing?!'. No, automatically I say: 'Oh, poor little thing, all your milk came back up? Does your tummy hurt? Wait, we will give you to Daddy, then he can wash you and put clean clothes on you, and then you'll be as good as new in a bit.'
That is not how I talk to myself when I feel normal human emotions, or when something goes differently than I had in mind. No, I practice self-flagellation and self-blame, and then beg God to deliver me from my so-called character defects and let me be a better person. An approach that once served me, but really no longer does today. On the contrary, I notice that it hurts me and even keeps me in bondage. It simply doesn't work for me anymore.
I realized on Friday evening that something had to change in my recovery. That there needed to be more softness, love, and tolerance. From myself toward myself, but also from others toward me. Only, I didn’t know how. Yet I knew that God knew, and I even said in my prayer: "When the student is ready, the master appears. God, I am ready. Bring on whatever You have for me, whatever, whoever, or wherever it may be." And then, seemingly out of nowhere, another worldwide online recovery group for addicts suddenly crossed my path. Not a twelve-step group, but one based on Buddhist principles. Initially, it gave me more questions than answers: 'how can a Buddhist group come from God? That’s impossible, right?!'. Still, I decided to attend a few meetings before wanting or being able to give an answer to that, and those meetings were truly unbelievable. So much softness, love, and tolerance. It was like balm for my soul. And even though I don’t understand it, I feel that this was given by God. Love with a capital L.
I am ready to treat myself more softly. To hang up the mental whip with which I punish myself forever. And to approach myself the way I did with my godchild on Friday and ask myself: 'What do you feel? What do you need? Can I do something for you to make it easier for you?'. Out of love, softness, and tolerance. Without judgment.
I still have a very, very, very long way to go. A very long one. But I have taken the first steps now, and at least the path is visible now. I know where to go, and that is already quite something. I am ready. Ready to treat myself the way I treat those three beautiful children in my life. With love, humor, softness, and healthy boundaries. A long road, but I think it will be the most beautiful one I will ever walk.
