There, I said it. There's a mean girl inside my head who thoroughly embraces this belief. I'm usually able to keep her quiet and not think about her so much, but last night she was ranting and raving and making very convincing arguments.
"You really need to face the fact that you are a crappy writer," she says. "Not only that, but you insist on exposing your crappy writing and pathetic thoughts to the world at large. How embarrassing!" Plus:
- The fact that you want to share your every pathetic thought on Facebook just proves how lonely you are.
- You just used the word pathetic twice (well, now three times). See? Crappy writer.
- You will never lose 10 pounds if you keep consuming mass quantities of Chardonnay and Butterfinger ice cream.
- He's just not that into you.
- Why can't you take time to clean the bottom of the oven so whenever the oven reaches more than 400 degrees it won't set off the fire alarm?
- They're just trying to be nice - They don't really want to come over for Thanksgiving.
- You've never been good with money.
- Why can't you get through one book? Oh, I know, because you're wasting too much time on the computer and watching "The Wonder Years" reruns. Loser.
- They don't pay you what you're worth because ... yeah, you guessed it.
I counter with: "But I'm a good mom." She has no reply to that. Because her only purpose is to tear me down, not anyone else. Ha! That's where I have her. Since I raised them, they are me, or at least pretty strong reflections. And in my eyes, absolutely perfect in every way. With this thought as my armor, I am feeling quite proud of myself. That mean girl just crawled back into her hole.
I really need to slap her around a bit. Show her who's boss. Gonna work on it this week.