In my work with my therapist and my personal self-care practice I most often refer to my anxious self as my “inner child.” The reasoning stems from my experiences growing up and the moments when I felt scared and powerless, which ultimately shaped the way anxiety would manifest within me as an adult.  In an Instagram post earlier in the year I elaborated on my fearful younger self and the compassion I’ve developed for her.

《 d e a r * y o u n g e r * s e l f 》 You. Are. Enough. * * * #aprillove2016 I keep this photo out, which I believe was taken the year my grade school teacher used a sort of public shaming tactic on me and subsequently set me up for a lifetime of worry. Worry that I wasn't - and never would be - smart enough to do things right, that my innocent mistakes would always be met with anger and ridicule from others, with embarrassment and shame from myself. That I was somehow less valuable than everyone else for my mistakes. I keep the photo out as a reminder that the scared little girl still lives in me, in my fears of failure and lack; hers is the voice that fuels my anxiety. And she reminds me that my anxiety is not something to be fought with aggression, but a part of myself that I must find the strength to comfort, to love, and to teach. x

See this Instagram photo by @caseemarie * 32 likes

Looking at anxiety in this way, as something to comfort and nurture into calmness and confident action, has been one of the most significant cornerstones of my journey. Because anxiety no longer becomes a bully or an enemy I need to beat; my life no longer feels like a battle, but a journey down an awkwardly bumpy and sometimes innocently treacherous road. Anxiety is no longer the villain tormenting me into submission, but a scared childhood me hiding in her closet and longing for someone to tell her she’s alright, she’s enough. I’ve been charged with keeping her safe and growing her confidence; in many ways, I am the mother of this inner child, and it’s my responsibility to encourage her out of hiding and into the world.

I remember once reading an article about making friends with anxiety and it seemed like the farthest-fetched idea I’d ever heard. Yet now, a few years and experiences and insights down the road, it makes all the sense in the world to me. Anxiety isn’t the thing hammering us into seclusion – that’s the reaction to the anxiety. Instead, anxiety is the shoulder a little bird sits on when it compassionately tells us to drop the storyline.

Adopting this perspective has been one of my greatest challenges, yet the result has been one of my greatest sources of strength. To become compassionate toward your anxious self is to become compassionate toward your imperfect self, and that’s the basis of a truly workable relationship between mind, body, and soul.

I have a habit – and I know I’m not alone in this – of looking for validation from others. Whether I’m writing an e-mail or weighing a big life decision, I’ve always felt the need to ask, “Does this sound okay?” or “Do you think that’s a good idea?” I always knew it was an insecurity, but I never considered that it was anything more than a quirk; certainly not a harmful one. But despite how common the insecurity is, I’ve realized that it can be harmful, because the more we feed it, the more it grows. And the more it grows, the louder it gets. And the louder it gets, the quicker we are to let the fear run our lives. Sooner or later insecurity owns us, and it doesn’t know what else to do but be insecure.

The search for validation, as I’ve come to know it, is the offspring of insecurity. But it’s not just about the need to be accepted: it’s the belief that we are unable to validate ourselves. When the weight of that realization fully hit me I thought: You, self, need to give yourself permission. You need to give yourself permission to see, to discover, to hold, to understand, to be okay. You need to give yourself permission to be your own validation. You also need to give yourself permission to make mistakes, to fail and to look foolish. Because it is going to happen. Most likely – and with your track record, let’s be honest – you are going to fail at some things and you will feel embarrassment and shame and regret. And that’s okay. Give yourself permission to know – to trust – that it’s okay. Maybe even, if you can, strive to give yourself permission to accept that those mistakes and failures are wonderful, because when the dream-house you’re trying to build crumbles all around you you’ll be able to stand on the ruins and reach higher, and you’ll learn things, and eventually you’ll be in the right place with the right tools and all four walls will stand. But you have to give yourself permission to get started so you can finally stop toeing the dirt and you can finally look up, and see, and estimate, and hope, and try.

Of course, if it took just telling myself that speech only once, I’d be a lot farther in my life than I am (wouldn’t we all?). It’s like everything else: it’s a practice. It’s a process of once again relearning this thing called life and unlearning all the self-shame we’ve carried with us, all the things we’ve allowed because we thought that’s just how it was supposed to be. It’s so hard for so many reasons, namely the fact that it takes time and we live in an age of super-mega instant gratification. Who wants to wait for results anymore? We just want to see them. But the first step is the first step, and it leads to more success, more peace, more awareness – more permission.