why do I still discipline myself through shame?
As I enter a new chapter of my life, I keep wanting to become more "disciplined" - better at my job, better at writing, better at making money. When I dissect my thought process, though, I realize that, most of the times, my discipline runs on shame: I don't have enough money saved, which means I can't afford things, which means I am less than my peers, which means I have to instill a rigid, iron discipline to make up for my inadequacy.
In other words, I spent 25 years mistaking self-punishment for self-improvement, and it's taking forever to drill this mind shift into my head. Even writing this, I am feeling the friction of it. I am not entirely convinced of my own words, and I momentarily wondered if a passing-by reader will sense my reluctance. I want to delete a part of me that always existed, the part that achieves through fear, and it's making me nervous. If shame built everything I'm proud of, why would I change that now? And what happens if I dissolve it?
I don't trust fake optimism, and I have talent for stressing myself into productivity, but I wonder - what would it feel like to achieve discipline without instilling the old commentary of not enough, not enough, not enough? Shame is not synonymous to having standards I believe, even though I spent my entire life treating them as interchangeable.
Lately, I look back at my posts about my depression. I think about my therapist, the medication changes, and the mosaic of anger, shame, and grief that felt like it could take the world apart with my bare hands. My rage fleets, and I've been experiencing an unfamiliar gentleness towards my life. I don't know what to do with it; I don't know if I am allowed to hold it. I am almost scared to, even though it has arrived here, small and steady, in my palms.