I don’t live up to the expectations of others.
I let people down … people are disappointed with me … they carried high hopes for me, and I fail, sometimes spectacularly, to live up to them.
This is my story, my fractal pattern. For almost sixty years I carried this. It’s embarrassing that it’s gone on for this long.
It explains why why I’ve hesitated to take on clients. Why I felt more comfortable in the background, as a researcher. As a wannabe writer. It was the engine behind my energy of being a dreamer, not a doer. Blinkered truth, that. I actually did heaps, but haven’t acknowledged myself for that. I only saw what wasn’t done.
It explains why I feel like a fraud whenever I put myself out there as an expert.
It explains why I pile it on and overwhelm clients and students when I do get them. If I don’t sense they are thrilled and delighted, I tap dance harder and harder, trying to win their approval.
And you know what, I am finally getting bored with my story. I am well and truly over it because it interferes with the larger vision I am seeing for myself.
I decree to myself … I Am Enough! I am enough. I am enough. I am enough. I am enough. I am fucking enough!
I am not here to live up to the expectations of others with their own agendas. I AM here to be true to my own priorities. I release my own shame about letting others down. I no longer let myself down.
The use-by date for my story was up long ago. I just hadn’t attended to decluttering my inner pantry.