She gnaws at my spirit. She chews up my good thoughts, spits on my motivation, beats down my stamina. The critical, cynical me, the dark me I don’t like. The me I can’t keep closeted, shoved to the perimeter of my existence. She stomps through my head, shattering delicate splinters of inspiration.
Victimized far too long by her upper hand, I cower when she shows up. I spin the same self-degrading story, feeding her appetite. I’m not worthy. I’m not enough. I’m not talented. It’s everyone else’s fault. It’s out of my control. She’s out of my control.
My heart is the tough one, the one that pushes back, sends her to the corner, and gives her a time-out. The bully meets her match. Kindness, love, trust, compassion – my heart’s tools, my soul’s resources. Watching the dark me recoil, I regain strength and jump back into the moment. I trudge through the day, holding space for the me I like to wobble onwards.