How is it that the telling of our stories – our real, imperfect stories – fills us with anxiety and shame? The fear of being judged and found lacking is enough to go running back to hiding in a dark corner. Our prehistoric brains reject difference, uniqueness or individuality – standing out might get us eaten.
So how do we do it? How do we stand in our truth and tell our story - the real one - in spite of our fear?
A revelation for me, was realizing what that fear is all about. It comes down to a simple thing: love. (Ugh. Doesn’t everything?) Telling my real story means allowing people to see all sides of me: the beauty, the ugliness, and everything in between. And some people who see it may not like it. This is how my subconscious goes:
My Real Self ---- People Don't Like Me ---- I'm Not Valuable --- No One WILL LOVE ME.
Funny how that works, huh?