Pride vs Praise

If you've been waiting your whole life to hear "I'm proud of you," you know the ache.

All I ever wanted as a child was recognition. As we all do. For our efforts to be noticed.

In my household whenever I sought that out, I was met with criticism.

As an adult that voice became my own.

Even when no one was saying it anymore, I was.

Even when I knew logically I was enough, I was still performing for an invisible judge.

So you try harder.

You become impressive.

Responsible. Easy. Capable beyond your years.

You read faces before you read books.

Scanning for softening, for approval, for a flicker that says yes, that was enough.

And still the response is muted. Corrective. Focused on what could be better.

So you try again.

The shift didn't arrive through another achievement.

It arrived when I finally stopped and listened to my body instead of that voice.

As I moved and caressed my sweet body, she quietly whispered to me:

I'm so proud of you. Quit telling yourself the poor me narrative.

Look how strong and resilient you are. You don't need anyone else.

You are your own mother. Be so damn proud of yourself.

And that is the moment my life changed.

Months of somatic work later, I no longer felt resentment for my mother.

I could have compassion for the human in her, realizing she had done the best she could.

Her flaws were also my own and I could overcome them instead of being weighed down by them.

One day I heard something come out of her mouth and I could not receive it:

I'm proud of you.

It took about a half dozen times over the span of months until it finally clicked.

It brought me to tears.

But it only felt a fraction as good compared to being able to be proud of myself.

Because what I had been longing for was never only verbal.

It was somatic.

It was the experience of being witnessed by myself and not turning away.

You no longer have to wait.

What you longed for most, you can learn how to give yourself.

Aho.