Somewhere along the line I internalized the idea that I’m not enough. I’m not good enough. I’m not pretty enough. I don’t cook enough. I don’t work out enough. I’m not thoughtful enough. I’m not smart enough. The litany rings on endlessly in my head. 

I jest about imposter syndrome, but it’s worse than that. Somehow, I’ve gotten so used to talking down to myself that I’ve decided to believe. I talk so much about feeling like an imposter that I began to believe I was one. 

Today, after having an argument with B, we went on a run. The plan was for him to take Loki and me to trail behind at my own pace. Only Loki freaked out when B tried to run ahead. So, instead, he paced me. I was puffing along and kept trying to tell him to leave me, but he wouldn’t. Toward the end of the run, my strength was flagging and I thought to myself that there I was again, holding him back. 

Because I’m just not good enough. 

I almost started sobbing, which isn’t a good idea when running. When I realized, the only way I would fail was if I quit. I told myself I could do it. I told myself I was good enough. And suddenly, each step came easier. On the final stretch, he dropped directly into pace with me and told me that the fountain was our goal and that when we hit the last crosswalk, I was to sprint all out to the end. 

After I caught my breath, as we slowly walked back to the apartment, I told B of my fear of holding him back. He told me that I was being ridiculous.  And I’m choosing to believe him. 

I can’t believe myself right now. I’ve told myself too many negative lies. So now, I’m going to tell myself the truth. Hopefully, just like when I told myself I could keep running, it will come easier with time. Even more, my goal is to believe the truth. Because I am enough, just as I am. 


About texancountess

I find myself in the calming roar of the sea, floating gently on the foam of the breaking waves. Blue. Green. Gray. The colors of the sea mark the boundaries of my soul. The tumbled glass finds its polish under the relentless pounding of the waves upon the shore. Thus am I. Rough transitioning to polish, refinement ever a process, finding my niche in the storms of life.
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