I'm Not Good Enough
This self-narration has been weaponised by a system that wants to retain the status quo. How dare I think I can write a book about women rising above it, especially when I believe it myself.
This core belief has ruled my life. It lurks in the shadows waiting for the right turn of my neck so it can sink its teeth deep before my psyche, adrenal glands, and amygdala start screaming warnings at each other. Demons and archetypes draw swords, fight-or-flight is activated, and emotional neurotransmitting chaos ensues. I am immobilised and urged to flee simultaneously when the chanting begins, “You’re not good enough!” “You idiot, look what you’ve gone and done!” “What made you think you would be good at this?” The saddest, “You were never good enough.”
The spiral down into the pit of self-loathing begins, and it is the most painful place I know. I have tried to outrun it. I have tried to silence it. No amount of worldly success keeps it mollified. It attacked this week when my beautiful and generous friend sent some suggested edits for my latest chapter. I haven’t even read them! I became aware of vertigo that signals an approaching tornado as I started to read her email, and I fell head-first into the abyss. It seems so innocuous now that I write about it, but the horror was real. Who did I think I was, believing I could write a book?
I started writing here in this virtual artist’s studio that is substack last year when I gave up my medical career to lead a more creative life. It was a place I could play with words and ideas and find my voice, sort of like training. A book has been banging around inside me for two decades, and I thought the hardest part would be making space to let it out. Like a princess trapped in a turret, I believed it would be as easy as turning a key in a lock and releasing her. People told me that first drafts are rarely seen, but my book would be so grateful that it would fly across the pages in short months, a year at most. I would have thought it was cute if it were someone else’s naivety and optimism. Mine? Not so much. My hellish narrative had much more sinister intentions.
I did everything I thought I was meant to do to prepare. I had a desk, a laptop, and a plan. I wrote every day, obsessed with time frames, word counts and editing, and all of these things made sure I didn’t get to the heart of my truth. In my efforts to avoid being didactic, I adopted saccharin arrogance. I was trying to write in a way that looked like I knew what I was talking about while sounding nonchalant, making me seem condescending. And after three months of writing, the vampire of shame started knocking at the door.
I avoided him and started planning a long road trip, deluding myself that I would write while travelling. I convinced myself that my governance role had to take priority and the puppy needed training. I stayed connected and involved with medical professional groups even though I wasn’t working as a doctor. All were excuses and distractions from the truth; my first draft was shit.
When I started writing my second draft, I was intensely relieved that I hadn’t shared much of my first draft with anyone. When I started writing my third draft, I was intensely relieved that I hadn’t shared much of my second draft with anyone. When I started writing my third draft, I thought I was on to something. Until I didn’t. Enter my matrilineal inheritance; a woman who thinks she can shouldn’t. Add to that a childhood of being told you’re too much everything by everyone, “You’re too loud”, “You’re too bossy”, “You’re too smart”, “You’re too rebellious”, “You’re too fucking much!”
Bless my ego for trying to protect me, cobbling together an armour of assertive blasphemy to speak loudly in the face of anything that would tell me I couldn’t do what I believed I could. The verbal martial art of castrating those who told me I was “too” anything. I look back over my life and marvel at the hurricane of me who made shit happen while the world said there was something wrong with me for doing so. However, there was an unseen cost. With every rejection or criticism, the little girl hiding in the shelter felt the full force of the bomb. Clothes shredded, bones broken, and so many bruises all over her body, but nothing hurt as much as believing she wasn’t good enough.
At some point last year, I wondered if I should return to university to get this book written, so I applied to do a Master of Arts in Creative Writing. I thought if I put myself in a direct line of sight of a mentor, surrounded myself with peers and was motivated by academic pressure, I might complete the manuscript. But my application wasn’t successful. Surprisingly, I only felt gutted for about fifteen minutes before my wise mind convinced me this wasn't personal. So how on earth did I end up in existential hell after my friend, one of my biggest champions, suggested a few clarifying edits?
There is a connection between thinking something is good and receiving feedback that tells you otherwise. Our reaction activates shame, the elephant in the room that would prefer to stay unacknowledged. This neuronal pathway of our feminine collective consciousness has been laid down over centuries, and for many, the triggering can be seemingly spontaneous. It is similar to chronic regional pain syndrome (CRPS) in that pain is generated and experienced long after the initial stimulus for the pain is withdrawn. Our current system of power relies on women being immobilised by shame. It is the weapon that has been wielded to keep women in “their place” for centuries. Chronic global shame syndrome (CGSS) is something I just made up, but maybe that’s what we should call it.
What can we do about it?
Brené Brown tells us to shine a light on it, and we do this by speaking up. Shame has more power in the dark, but when we talk about it, we force it into the light where we can see it for what it is. It has no place in the feminine rising because it will blunt the arrows with which we must protect our future. If we link arms, stand together, and hold each other up, we can quieten it. What comes next is up to us, but first, we must identify what doesn’t serve us and deactivate it.
I think of our former Prime Minister, Jacinda Adern, as a canary in the mine at the beginning of the end of our current system of power, the patriarchal era. She was exposed to toxic gases in the form of hate, and so we have seen the beast we are up against. She has led with the feminine solutions of compassion, understanding, and collaboration. It has challenged the status quo, exposing the snake that would eat itself before conceding that a paradigm change is needed. If we follow Jacinda’s lead, we must leave shame behind because hate will trigger it and immobilise us, the poisonous gas that will turn women against each other.
Glennon Doyle is a writer, feminist, and activist, and she talks on her podcast, We Can Do Hard Things (WCDHT), about the truth setting us free. She is on a quest to find what she has often described as the “truthiest truth” because we can only be going in the right direction when we seek this. Glennon's honesty drive includes revealing what lies in the shadows; self-judgement, self-sabotage, self-loathing, and every other demon that haunts us. She unites women globally by encouraging us to share the parts of ourselves that cause the most shame. We are much stronger in the light if we are connected in the dark.
Elizabeth Gilbert talks about letting all voices be present at the council of our minds. Rather than sending shame to purgatory, she talks about letting it have a say, thanking it for its point of view but ultimately not letting it run proceedings or make the final decisions.
Just today, I read a substack piece by author Laura Mckowen, who writes candidly about shame, “…I found myself in a puddle on the couch, unable to eat or talk or think. But here’s the thing: it wasn’t a puddle of tears. That would be fine! Preferable! Please, let me cry! This was a puddle of shame. Ick, gross, thick, sticky, self-rejecting shame.”
This thing makes us feel this bad! But how much better do we feel when other women aren’t afraid to talk about it?! I’m talking about it. I’m not making excuses or trying to justify it. I want to be brave enough to tell you exactly what the voices inside me say in the hope they can no longer trap me with their tyranny. So this post has a dual purpose; to help me but also, hopefully, to help you too.
I do not need pity. That is the last thing I need. I do not need ego stroking; my ego is the reason I am in this strife. Please do not tell me that you have never felt like this because that doesn’t help either. It just feeds the shame that I’m not strong enough to resist it. Telling me I am good at something isn’t helpful when shame has taken hold. But holding with all the love and understanding in the world, this very precious truth I have shared with you does. Please hand this truth to the woman standing next to you in case she is also immobilised by shame. Be mindful with each other. Link arms, hearts, and minds, and let’s head out of the darkness and into the light together.
I'm Not Good Enough
I know this won’t help either BUT I truly believe you are one of the most gifted and amazing woman I know. I am in awe of your talent and creativity. You make me want to take risks and better my life. Thank you Melissa!!!!Xxx
Chronic global shame syndrome (CGSS). Brilliant. You should put a copyright on that. I loved this. And I couldn't agree more with Michael Reddington xx