Ok, in fairness, I didn’t throw it at him to hit him. I just threw it forcefully across the net and it went flying in his general direction. Thankfully, it landed at his feet without actually touching him. And he was very gracious when I apologized. “Did I say something to upset you?” he’d asked.
“No,” I’d grumbled. “I’m just frustrated with myself.” Or more specifically, with my seeming lack of ability on the tennis court. That day’s practice did not get any better, and ended with me letting out a Splash-Mountain-worthy scream when I missed yet another easy ball. I recall one of my teammates scolding me disdainfully from the neighboring court. “DEAL WITH IT!” I’d yelled back at her. But like a crazy lady. I can’t deny it. I acted like a crazy lady.
Walking off the court, I demanded to know from my coach if I could demote myself and move down a level. “No, Nikki,” he’d said patiently, shaking his head. “You’re already on the roster for this division. That’s against the rules.” I know that rule full well, of course.
“Well then can I get my money back?” I’d snapped. He looked me in the eye then. “You want to quit?” I jutted my chin out and crossed my arms. “Maybe. I suck.”
I’m laughing at myself as I recall the memory now. (The way I say that, you’d think it was years ago. It wasn’t. It’s been a month, tops). And while objectively one could say I did not display my best behavior, or that I showed up like a petulant, adolescent girl, I must admit I’m proud of my ability to freely release my emotions. Indeed, the way I behaved that day doesn’t bother me so much.
What I resist about this experience is the reason I melted down in the first place. It was that familiar feeling in the middle of my chest that once again had become a physical manifestation threatening to spill out of my eyes.
It was that voice repeating itself in my mind, over and over, “You’re not good enough. You don’t belong here.”
That creation is what did me in at practice that day, no doubt. And it didn’t stop there. My stinkin’ thinkin’ quickly spiraled into, “Why would anyone ever listen to you about the power of a positive mindset? Clearly, you don’t have one! Why would anyone take advice from you? How could anyone ever be inspired by you?”
I found myself desperately trying to claw my way back into being positive and graceful and then berating myself for not being able to do so.
My self-discovery trainer Ami says it’s like having your foot on the gas and the brake at the same time.
Yep. That’s a head-smacking, painfully accurate analogy if I’ve ever heard one.
You know, as gritty, determined and resilient as I am, my “I suck” moments sure are intense. You’ve been there too, right? You know you’re powerful beyond measure, you know you’re wonderfully made, but it’s like someone has you handcuffed, blindfolded and gagged. I’m naming this culprit the “You-Can’t Monster.” We all have one. She’s an insidious thing, lurking in our minds waiting to pounce on us anytime we think of stepping into our greatness.
You know who I’m talking about. She’s always saying you can’t afford it, you don’t deserve it, you won’t be any good at it. She rolled her eyes at you when you considered jumping into that exciting direct sales business opportunity and ticked off on her mean little fingers all the reasons you wouldn’t succeed. She shook her head when you thought you might sign up to run a 5K and reminded you how hard it would be and how not athletic you are. And when you decided to put your soul on the internet and start a blog dedicated to empowering other women she raised her eyebrows at you and laughed.
I don’t know about your You-Can’t Monster, but mine is a real bitch.
So how do we combat her? Can we combat her? The answer, of course, is heck yeah, and here’s how. First, we have to accept that our respective You-Can’t Monsters only exist because we created them. Don’t get me wrong—we didn’t create them intentionally. It happened slowly over time, the culmination of not-so-nice experiences dating back to when we were kids. Someone told us the picture we colored wasn’t good enough or didn’t want us to play Four Square with them. Someone else made fun of our ideas or slid away from us when we tried to sit next to them on the bench at lunch. They told us our dark, curly hair looked stupid or that our outfit was ugly and before we knew it, a part of us started believing them. And then it was done. Your You-Can’t Monster was created and you didn’t even know it!
But there’s good news. What you create you can also discreate. (Is that a word?)
Don’t worry. No violence is necessary. Ami, whose professional life is dedicated to training others how to harness their God-given power, helped me realize recently that my You-Can’t Monster only rears her head when I’m not being who I am. In other words, combating yours is as simple as remembering who you are.
You’re God’s daughter.
Say what? That’s right, girlfriend. You’re God’s daughter. Take a moment to really think about what that means. You are fearfully and wonderfully made. You are powerful beyond measure. You have it all.
I can guess what you might be thinking. That’s it? That’s supposed to erase years of self-doubt? Look, I’m no expert and I don’t purport to have any empirical evidence to back me up, but yeah. I think it can. At the very least, it shuts my You-Can’t Monster right up. And it’s no wonder. What could she possibly say to that? “No, you’re not?” Ha. That’s like saying the sky isn’t blue.
In other words, she ain’t got nothin.’
During my most recent tennis match, she showed up and started running her mouth. But this time, I knew what to do. I said to her out loud (under my breath, mind you, so as not to alarm my opponents or my partner about the fact that I was literally talking to myself), “You can do whatever you want. I’m God’s daughter. I decide. I’m winning this point.”
And I did. After that, my partner and I went on to win many, many points and we won the match emphatically at 6-2, 6-3. (In a related story, that post-match glass of Sancerre tastes so much better when you win).
Try it. The next time your You-Can’t Monster shows up and starts throwing her annoying weight around to ruin your day, tell her what’s up. You’re God’s daughter. You decide. Ain’t nobody got nothin’ on you, beautiful.
