Sometimes I have to learn the hard way.

How I discovered a skewed self-preservation mindset deflates our self-worth.

For most of my life, I tried to be careful and to fit in. I trained myself to learn from other’s mistakes, and I told myself that I didn’t want to learn anything the hard way. I said, I want to be smart, and if I could be careful enough, then I could avoid mistakes, accidents and rejection. 

As it turns out, this way of thinking, disguised as self-preservation, morphed into a transactional approach to my relationships and how I viewed and valued myself and the world around me. As it slowly oozed into my sense of self-worth, and obscured my reality, disastrous results would soon follow.

My earliest recall of this self-preservation way of thinking is the day I learned that my mother gave birth to me when she was just sixteen years old. As this knowledge permeated my youth, I told myself that this could never happen to me. I saw how a teenager having a baby, and then two more children quickly thereafter, trapped her into a job she despised because she was forced to provide for a family as a single mom. It also led her into toxic intimate relationships where she was manipulated, gas-lighted and abused. I watched her light slowly fade as we grew up together.

If I could learn from her mistakes, and other people's mistakes, then nothing bad would happen to me, and I could avoid the same. But I would soon experience the unexpected that I could not have foreseen.

At the age of nineteen I found myself with an unplanned pregnancy but quickly chose to terminate the pregnancy. I was not prepared for motherhood and I could not follow in the footsteps of my own mother. I buried this secret and carried it with shame for many years. I harbored regret and guilt that I couldn’t make better decisions and avoid such a devastating mistake.

Then at the age of 20 I married and when I was 22 we got pregnant with our baby girl. Five months after her birth her father was instantly killed in a car accident and I was left alone to raise our daughter for five years until I met my second husband.

During this time, I was embarking on a spiritual journey as my awareness about something universal, some truth about love was sparked. This journey took center-stage, especially during the most difficult periods of my life, and at other times, the fire burned slowly. My spiritual practice continued to grow and was always present, but sometimes tucked away in the background.

I also continued to plan, strategize and attempt to control my life based on learning from the mistakes of others. I wanted to gain control of my life and the outcomes. If I could avoid terrible things happening to me, then I would be fine. My life would be fine and I would be safe.

This need for safety evolved from early childhood trauma when I was not in control of my own life. I was abused and molested within my own family and circle of friends. Personal boundaries had no place or respect in my family. And this leaves deep impressions and ignites within coping mechanisms. But, as an adult I no longer wanted to be a victim. I wanted to control my life, and the best way I knew was to avoid mistakes. Subconsciously, I thought I had caused these terrible things to happen to me, as every child does. It’s all we can do at the time to understand when we have very little control as a small person.

With each decision to control and manage my environment, I grew more guarded and introverted while putting on a happy face, pretending to be gregarious, in control and strong. Secretly, I was anxious, nervous and strangely felt this underlying guilt–even if I wasn’t doing anything wrong.

As I grew into my adult years, I recognized my need to control my environment more and more. I framed it to myself that I was a peacekeeper, and that it was my job to keep everyone happy.

I learned about others just like me, peacekeepers, nurturers, empaths, care givers, kind-hearted people who give and give trying to keep some sense of order and safety in their own lives. But this transforms every interaction into a transactional exchange. With this mindset, I saw a warning flag that I must give up a part of myself in order to get what I need and want, as you will see. 

Let me just add a side note here about equanimity. I do believe relationships must have a certain level of equanimity, a shared give and take without keeping score. Equanimity can be much like a see-saw, but it always finds a middle point of balance when both parties feel equal enjoyment, fulfillment and support from the relationship–most of the time.

In order to feel safe, wanted and loved I continued to make soul-crushing decisions. I also didn’t take time to nourish my own light. I failed to give myself the time to fill my cup, re-nourish my own energy, spirit and heart. Like so many, I secretly felt unworthy and I rode this runaway train for most of my adult life.

Early on I developed an eating disorder to suppress the growing inner rage. After I worked through that and began to become aware of the deep emotional scarring, I turned to alcohol to self-medicate and soothe my anxiety at the end of the day. I became trapped in a toxic marriage that relied on my transactional mindset. My only island of sanity was my strong maternal powers and the pride and joy of being a mother.

In midlife, as my daughter reached adulthood, it was time to come to terms with myself, and I was headed for a massive collision.

After 20 years, my husband told me he was leaving. I was shocked and devastated. It was a divorce I couldn’t foresee, nor did I want. My greatest fear of abandonment had come true. This felt like my “dark night of the soul.” And it only got worse.

A year later my family was suddenly faced with a devastating illness of our mother. As the eldest child, I felt responsible to step up and take charge and advocate for her care in the ICU. It was life or death for her for nine weeks, and I came dreadfully close to having to make the unfathomable decision to keep her on life support or not.

But as her slow recovery endured for over two years, and she moved from the hospital to rehabilitation, I gradually came face-to-face with my own state of emotional well-being. The amount of energy and attention required on her behalf, following up with doctors, hospital staff, and comforting and inspiring her to fight to get well again was taking its toll on my mental health.

I was so focused on caring for my mother I failed to notice that I was expending so much of my own energy. I would go home at night from the hospital and collapse. I spiraled into a stupor, oftentimes with a few glasses of wine and then crawled into bed. I would get up the next day and do it all over again.

My mother’s care required me to fly from my home in Michigan to Nevada once or twice a month. When I returned home to Michigan, I noticed that I felt empty, vacant and listless. I had no energy to give to myself or to my family. I felt completely depleted.

I began to tune into this feeling of complete exhaustion, and gradually recognized that I had a finite amount of energy to give on any given day. This was actually a new realization for me.

It made sense. This felt logical. You can only give so much of yourself until you are completely depleted if you aren’t doing something to recharge your own battery.

My spiritual practice was teaching me acceptance of what is. I began to allow myself deep rest, sometimes incapable of doing anything else. I sought deep solitude. I read, prayed, and deepened my meditation practice. Sometimes all I could do was watch episodes of Downton Abbey. I shifted my focus onto clean nutrition, avoiding alcohol altogether, and incorporated more gentle movement like yoga and walking.

I began to notice a slow rise in my energy. I felt I was onto something. I needed to recharge my own energy, which sometimes took days.

This required a real mind-shift for me. I was always a “doer.” My self-worth was acquired from my ability to produce. It was that darned transactional mindset. There were many experiences throughout my life where my value system environment felt critical if I wasn’t doing and producing precisely to fit into the social norm, especially as a young woman. How I kept my house, how I looked and dressed, how involved I was with my child’s school, social and sports events was under review.

As my mind-shift evolved, I began to have more clarity about how much I can give, and when I need to step away for self-care. I began to explore what habits, actions, non-actions, behaviors, and people brought nourishment and which did not. I also learned to slow down; I could still act, but I didn’t need to expend so much energy. I would walk slower, move slower, give myself permission to shorten my daily to-do list and take small breaks throughout the day. I sat longer in stillness, mindfulness and meditation. I would sometimes wear a special mala bracelet as a reminder to slow down. A sense of relief began to fill my heart, mind and body.

I began to associate this slower pace with mindfulness. When we are racing around, that usually means that the mind is racing too. When the mind is racing, it is quite impossible to be present.

With my new slower mode, I began to notice an inner spaciousness opening up. With this spaciousness I felt calmer, more settled and centered. My decision-making improved. I chose actions and behaviors that were more nourishing, harmonious and uplifting to my heart and spirit. And I fortified my personal boundaries.

Eventually when I returned to Nevada to visit or to continue my Mom’s advocacy and care, I arrived with a new approach. I began my day with a gentle yoga practice, I meditated and packed a healthy lunch. I carved out and protected this time of self-care at the beginning of each day.

I brought nourishing books to read, my journal and listened to calming music as I passed the time at her bedside. I arrived with a smile and a positive encouraging attitude that was genuine. At the end of the day I didn’t go home to collapse or pour a glass of wine. Instead, I showered and rested. I went to bed early to get enough restorative sleep for the next day and to regenerate my mind and body.

I became a bright light for everyone around me. I felt happy, full and generous. I regularly received compliments that I just had this calmness about me and people were drawn to me in conversation.

While visiting the hospital, I regularly scheduled time to go outdoors into the sunshine and put my feet in the grass to recharge throughout the day. I began to manage my energy on a daily basis.

Grounding in the sunshine outside the hospital.

This new found self-care revealed to me that it was a reflection of my own self-love. The more I practiced self-care, the more my self-love grew, absent of any external transaction.

No one else can determine the amount of energy we require to replenish our own light. Others aren’t aware, and many gladly take what they can from you. But we have a responsibility to care for ourselves, determine our own needs, no matter what anyone around us says or does. Especially if they criticize us or don’t understand the importance of self-care. It demands guarding boundaries, too.

In the end, I learned the valuable lesson that self-care is an expression of self-love. Self-love cannot be based on a transaction; earned, deserved, or otherwise. I learned that I must first love and accept myself, everything about myself, weakness and strength, light and shadow. Then recognize that I have a finite amount of energy to give before I am required to enter into a recovery and rejuvenation mode before I can share my light again.

If you are fortunate enough to live a long life, the fact is shit happens. You cannot control or prevent certain things from happening–no matter how careful you are.

I hope by sharing my own experience, you may learn just one lesson the easy way. Learn to drop a transactional mindset, practice steadfast self-care, and know that mistakes and accidents will happen. Our journey is to experience and learn. And yes, some lessons will be learned the hard way. 

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Happy 2022!

xo,

Victoria