Before I knew love I knew worry. As a child I worried about the rent. I remember being 11 years old and worrying about next month’s rent. I resent my parents for not protecting me from this worry. Not only did they not protect us from this worry, they made it a point to let us know. They concealed the things that made me trust the world I was living in and the ground I walked on and showed me the horrors of the world in a feeble attempt to protect me from it. In yogi terms: they fucked up my root chackra.
My ability to feel like I belonged in this world was never instilled in me. My entire life I have struggled to believe I was good enough for my own ideas. Even as a straight A student I hesitated to turn in my papers. Even though I was always the one who finished first and got all the questions plus the bonus questions correct, I was hesitant to be right. I still find myself hesitating to be right. In the 6th grade I received my first 80% in math, because the class had two teachers. One would pass by and help the students while the other would go over the lesson plan. Little did they know that the extra “help” was doing more harm than good as I was so fearful of being right, that my intelligence was held down forcefully by my insecurities. I was not able to own my beauty or my brains. I did not felt good enough for the talents and skills that I worked so hard to develop. My aptitudes were double edged high end sharpened swords. I became great at many things, because I feared falling from a mountain with no security blanket. Yet my fears of getting close to the ground are what led me to climb higher and higher.
I have a nagging feeling that my father sees us as my mother’s property and that my mother’s only goal is to keep us physically alive. Where is the love? Reasons why I love animals like no one else in this world. I know how to hug strangers, yet when I hug my own family I feel like the little girl who quietly counts to ten and then backwards in her head while she waits for someone to tell her that she is not good enough; for someone to tell me that I should fear the things I love. Although I do know that their intentions are good and their hearts are in the right place, I know now that the love they taught me was fear, and as a child I loved them unconditionally, so naturally I feared them. It is not the kind of fear where your life is at stake, it is the fear of being told that who you are and what you do is not good enough for something that naturally is, and always will be, unconditional in your heart. I love my parents. I always will. But we don’t know how to love each other or help each other out.
Now that I have started a GoFundMe account in order to help me obtain my masters in life coaching and counseling, I find myself more vulnerable than ever. I have strangers calling me brave, but to be vulnerable is to be brave. I always feared asking for help, so this is a big step for me. I remember on all of my report cards my teachers would give me great marks, but in the comment section always wrote that I had trouble asking for help. It would perplex me as a straight A student what I could possibly need help in. But now that I have grown up, and have friends who are teachers, I know what they meant. I needed help in life. I was the child who was always striving to be good enough. What the teachers wanted was to see me take a nap during nap time; they wanted me to hug them when the other kids hugged them; they wanted me to smile from time to time. They wanted me to know that I was good enough, but all they could do was award me A’s, certificates and make me the student of the month.
I always thought that the ability to ask for help came from not being good enough when in fact it is the other way around. You are only able to truly ask for help when you know that you are good enough and know that nothing will take that feeling away from you. Now that I have my chackras in line I am asking for help. I am here, I am vulnerable and I need your help.
Here is the link: http://www.gofundme.com/Anaseducation?utm_medium=wdgt