The week I took off work | #4

Struggling with a deeply rooted belief of unworthiness that surfaced this week

Hi friends, unfortunately I did not get to finish the vipassana as something unexpected came up and I am still processing what happened. I was planning to publish that piece this week but it still feels raw. I want to honour my feelings so am putting that one on hold for now. I hope to share it with you in the next issue!

Right before leaving for the vipassana, I painted my best work to-date. I stepped back midway and was shocked by how the colours came together, I am super proud of her!

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This past week I took off work because even though I was no longer on the vipassana, I was yearning for a week off. My body was doing all sorts of contortions to the tune of ‘PLEASE GIVE ME REST’ and so I yielded to its pleas. 

But to indulge in a whole week of doing life’s simple pleasures. Anything. Anything at all that I so wished. This threw me, along with the unfinished vipassana and being sick (quite possibly from the coughing meditator behind me) down a spiralling rabbit-hole of self-loathing. I found myself in deep despair; feeling unworthy and unlovable. 

In the depths of these feelings, I did this portrait and was proud of it. Small win!

I spent the rest of my time off sleeping, resting, watching Netflix (Ginny and Georgia, I recommend) and trying to stave off the feeling of not being worthy. Restlessly, I kept finding myself staring at the shelves inside my fridge. And as much as I tried to restrain myself, I still found myself putting things back where they belonged from the drying rack by the kitchen sink. I’d always known how bad I was with having ‘too much time on my hands’ and how my anxiety plays up by getting my mind to think about the things it could optimise like things to buy or clean or schedules to organise.

I had become so used to being ‘busy and important’ rushing from the art studio to weekly calls to my work ‘saving the world’ helping writers self-actualise to more painting and drawing to bodywork training to the weekend. Rinse. Repeat. 

This week off work, I willed myself to do it differently. Like easing myself into a hot bathtub, I slowly lowered myself into the discomfort of not doing anything. I constantly pulsed the temperature for safety and began to acclimatised. With that, I touched what laid beneath. It turned out I had learnt to protect myself by keeping busy because what I felt; saw; touched was not something anyone wishes to unveil about themselves. A deep sense of unworthiness enveloped me once I reached the bottom of the tub. And this felt somehow like an undeniable and almighty ‘truth’.

I’d been doing the work for long enough to know that our mind and body can play tricks. The embodied nature of this belief was that I was plainly not worthy. It came out of my mind and spread across my body like little tumours. It felt the way I imagine a taboo or superstition feels — somewhat unfounded but held onto strongly. I could feel it had deep roots. Years and years of being told not to dream too big, to stay in my lane, to keep my corporate job, to follow the rules, to not try to be too different etc.

Discomfort and negative feelings can be a teacher. But they are difficult teachers because to be a student, I had to be able to sit with and learn from it. Sitting with these feelings so often turn into ‘being consumed and swallowed by it’. There were times across this week where I accidentally leaned in too much and it consumed me. There were rare moments where I sat with it and glimpsed at some lessons. Like how deeply rooted a belief it was.

In those moments when I sat with it, I started to parse belief from truth and the fighter in me with a growing voice argued that it could not be true! Being gifted with a human life is rare. Moreover, being gifted with the ability to paint, write, move, build communities and impact other people’s lives couldn’t and shouldn’t be taken for granted! Slowly and with confidence something in me started fighting for me to see that it was NOT TRUE. 

Sunday was my last day off before resuming work. Right before sleeping, I pulled the covers over my head and stared at it from under. Unworthy. Unworthy. Unlovable. Unlovable. Those were words that ran through my head. I further tortured myself by pulling out Facebook, a social media I hardly use, to look specifically at the profiles of the people I went to high school with — their wedding pictures; engagement parties; baby showers. Like playing with fire, I knew nothing good would come out of it but I couldn’t resist the temptation. I knew it could make me feel worse and somehow I still wanted to see how much pain I could make myself take. 

The next day as I was cycling to the art studio, I asked myself if this spiralling version of me was me. The motion of peddling my bike forward was like a foreboding answer to the question. I asked myself if I was someone who sits at home feeling sorry for herself. I’d been here before, I’d been in darker places than here and both times the answer was ‘No’. This time it was instant. I am a fighter. I am worthy. I know I am worthy even if some days I believe the devil on my shoulder saying I am not. 

As I pedalled my bike closer and closer to the art studio, it struck me that these feelings will come and go, and I will in countless futures question my worthiness.

Locking my bike up and walking into the art studio, I was reminded of all the things I wanted to paint; all the things I still didn’t know how to paint; all the colours I wanted to mix; all the colours I still didn’t know how to mix. Surely that itself makes any painter’s life worthwhile. ;)