Just when I was starting to think that this pattern of self-hatred (and what else could you call it?) only applied to my love life, I noticed that I am VERY prone to blaming myself for everything else in the world that doesn’t go like I expected or hoped.  On one hand, I am relieved to know that the insanity is fully encompassing, as I was starting to think I might be one of those chicks who can only envision happiness if a man is standing beside her, but on the other, it is terrifying to know that I am sabotaging myself in every other area, as well.   

I quit my job about a month ago because, unfortunately, I worked for an employer who chose to play the recession card to the hilt.  Sure, it’s prudent to tighten the purse strings in an uncertain economy, but when you are NOT losing business, you ARE making promises you have no intentions of keeping, and you ARE reminding your employees daily how fortunate they are to be employed, then you ARE using fear as a manipulative tactic and you ARE doling out unmanageable work conditions.  You ARE lining your pockets on the desperation of the very people you’ve forgotten that count, too.  In short, you SUCK, but that’s another article.   In any event, after five years of constant expectations, zero consideration or appreciation, I cried “uncle” and quit.  And now, predictably, I blame myself.  I wonder if I could have done something differently, if I should have been more disciplined, if perhaps I SHOULD’VE been more appreciative of a company who had no intentions of promoting me for a job consistently well-done.  Nevermind the fact that 7 day work weeks is not what I had in mind for myself, or that I was becoming more miserable than I could ever put into words.  In a perfect world, you will be rewarded when you have proven yourself loyal, I wasn’t, so I must have done something, anything wrong.  Same pattern, different scenario. 

In my mind’s eye, I know that I give 100% of myself to anything about which I care, be it relationships or a profession.  I know in my heart that my dedication is genuine and I operate out of a strong appreciation for integrity.  If I truly examine my motives, I know that I really only want to contribute whatever I can, to be the best person I can be, that nothing makes me happier than seeing someone smile, and I take pride in a job done right.  Why I can’t put more faith in these truths, trust my instincts a little more, and regard them for the rarities they are, I can’t say.  If I know that I love deeply, why do I automatically blame myself when someone doesn’t return the loyalty?  If I know I am a dependable employee with a solid work ethic, why do flog myself endlessly if my employer thinks I am just another social security number?  If I DO manage to size something up as a bad, bad fit, like a bikini that constantly rides up your craw, why do I always look back and resist moving forward? I wouldn’t want a friend who criticized me so unfairly, so why do I insist on tearing myself to shreds?

To escape this utter madness, I must learn that being kind to myself is NOT selfish, it’s tantamount to survival.  If I am to ever STOP being my own worst enemy, I must become my own staunchest ally.  And to do that, I have to believe in myself fully, unwaveringly, and without fail.  Everything in me screams that this is wrong, that if I allow myself some growing room, I am basically becoming irresponsible and paving the way for reckless abandon.  That I will become a perpetual victim, always pointing the finger elsewhere.  It makes my head spin.

Is there a balance to strike, a way to concede that “self-abasing” is not synonymous with “responsible”, and to trust that cutting myself some slack will not be the same as green-lighting poor behavior? In short, can I become my own best friend?