Published First on Medium.com
For a really long time I carried the burden of self-hatred.
From a young age, I was always made to feel that I was shameful — in a myriad of ways — none of which were on purpose from my family. It was a sign of the times and an oppressive church at a very young age. By the time we found a decent church, the “damage” had been done, and I found myself in my teen years feeling ashamed of everything — from my body to my own shadow, my thoughts and my desire to kiss boys.
By the time I was in my late twenties, I had developed a full-on drinking problem. From that point forward, the self-hate ran deep and dark. I had identified none of my trauma(s) to date.
When I tried to take my own life at twenty-one, everyone brushed it under the table as a “one off.” I was tired. That wasn’t like me to try something like that. It was because I was drunk. I didn’t really want to die.
Even my psychologist didn’t make a follow-up, and I was out in the world — off to law school, then being a lawyer and raising children.
But now, I know that I did — in fact — want to die back then. I was that low. I was suffering that deeply. Much of it was at my own hand, my own “fault,” and my own “choices.”
In my mid-thirties, I began to fantasize about driving myself into a tree. Over and over again. The same tree. I thought, I could just detour this car and… I would think this as I drove home to my nice house in the suburbs, in my nice car, with my Louis Vuitton seated next to me, from my lucrative job as a lawyer in Atlanta.
I wanted to slam my SUV into a tree. Just to make it all stop.
On the day I had the kids in the car and I had this same thought, I was shaken. It shook me deep. I was suddenly wide awake. I heard a voice inside of me say, “Meredith, you will not be alive in one year if this continues. You will die by alcohol. Or, you will die by this tree.”
I believed that voice.
That voice, I wouldn’t say was God.
That voice — was me. It was the certainty that came from a knowing exactly what was happening, deep inside of myself. I realized that I didn’t want to die. I didn’t want to end it all.
I simply wanted my suffering to end.
Little by little, I changed some things that I could see were causing some suffering. Drinking, for one. I got sober. I changed jobs — also a place of suffering for me, because I wasn’t living my perceived Purpose. I worked on a lot of things.
During the writing of my second book, The Year of No Nonsense, everything cracked wide open for me.
Because I uncovered the darkness that started all of the pain, the suffering, and potentially the addiction cycle. I learned that I wasn’t shameful. I believed (truly) that I was no longer shameful. I realized that some things were my fault, but some things were not. I learned that I had to forgive myself in order to move forward.
Through all the cracks in myself, I could see the light. The light was self-compassion, forgiveness and desire to learn to live — to truly live — through my faults and fears.
In this precious light of forgiving myself, I found a way to move forward.