Last time, we looked at the Approval Seeking Spectrum (ASS) and how to spot when the needle swings into the red zone. That awareness is powerful, because it invites us to get clear on what our genuine goals are versus the things we’re doing to garner approval.
But I also mentioned that, to some degree, humans will always care what other humans think.
Beyond just approval-seeking, this brings up a crucial point when dealing with inner parts/psychological complexes.
We can’t get rid of them. We can’t change everything.
In some cases, our complexes are open to radical renovations, but depending on our unique psychological makeup, we each have areas that might not change as much as we’d like.
When I was younger, it was easier to believe my inner parts whose self-soothing mantra was “Later, everything will be better.” No matter what the issue was, later it would be fixed.
Later, it would be easier to save money instead of spending my paycheck as soon as it was cashed.
Later, it would be easier to stick to a work schedule that wasn’t punishing to my body.
Later, it would be easier to set boundaries with my family.
Later.
Later.
Later.
But as I get older, I’m more aware of Later’s dwindling window.
A couple months ago I was up at 2am with hyperthyroidism-fueled insomnia, and I decided to journal. In that squishy-brained liminal state things came through that my ego, when fully alert, would have slammed the door on.
I was journaling about my financial stability woes when I found myself writing, “What if this never changes?”
I’m not sure how long I sat there, staring at those words, but I remember very clearly how it felt. It was as if someone had flung open all the windows and doors in my chest, at the same time that the ground swelled up to meet me. An airy groundedness, if you will, a feeling of immense spaciousness with the infinite support of the earth.
My thoughts tried to rearrange around this new feeling-state, swirling through states of resistance and surrender, confusion and acceptance, before wandering around in the middle of it all.
What if this never changes?
Curiously, it didn’t feel like defeat. It didn’t feel like giving up, resignation—fuck it.
It felt like truth. It felt like freedom.
It’s difficult to articulate, because the truth wasn’t, This will never change—you can be sure of that. It was more akin to, I really don’t know if this will change, and maybe that’s okay.
There must be something to the adage, acceptance is the prerequisite of change, because letting myself settle into the possibility of not-changing is gradually opening my eyes to new forms of change.
It led to ending my work day at 4pm instead of forcing myself to toil uselessly until the clock struck 5, only to redo that hour of shoddy work the following day. And it opened my eyes to understanding that this extra hour had nothing to do with pursuing my goals and everything to do with soothing fearful inner parts.
The drive to do good work hasn’t gone away. Quite honestly, I don’t think it ever will, nor do I want it to, not entirely. But what is changing is how I define “good work.”
The closer I looked at the Critical Inner Parent’s definition of “good work,” the fuzzier it got. My best approximation is: good work means you’re always on the verge of burnout (otherwise, how else will you know whether you’re working “hard enough”??), and you can point to other people who aren’t doing nearly as much as you.
But when I step away from the burn-out ledge and continue to craft a life that isn’t about endless comparison (quitting social media being a big part of that), a new definition has emerged.
That’s where we’ll start next time.
