Stop Being Mean to Yourself: A Story About Finding the True Meaning of Self-Love by Melody Beattie
Authors: Melody Beattie
Tags: Self-Help, Personal Growth, Self-acceptance, Self-Esteem, North, Beattie, Melody - Journeys - Africa
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more subtle. The energy patterns were similar.
I'd feel off balance and confused. Something wouldn't feel right, then I would doubt whether I could trust myself and I would be uncertain about what to do next. But dealing with these situations became more complicated. Recognizing them was often tricky.
At first, this had caught me off guard. Slowly I began to understand that I needed to pay closer attention. From shopkeepers to healers to lovers, in personal life and in the business world, a wealth of people are ready to cast their spells on anyone walking softly and not carrying a stick.
It's said that Joan of Arc used to make her warriors get
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down on their knees, confess their sins, and cleanse their souls before going into battle. Maybe she knew intuitively that any lingering, unresolved guilt would muck up the soul and weaken a warrior's power.
In Aikido , students learn the art of sending negative energy back to the sender . It is an art based on nonresistance . Strength and speed are not considered power . Students learn to stay alert and focused — not paranoid — watching in front of and behind themselves .
I felt confused at first — and for a while — when I began studying Aikido . Each time my teacher or another student made a move on me in training , I would look at my teacher and say ,'' What should I do ? I don ' t know what to do ."
My teacher wouldn ' t respond . He believes that students learn best by struggling through the confusion and figuring things out themselves . I would be twisted , pulled , pushed , yanked , and sometimes punched . And I would just stand there . After months of passively allowing myself to be mauled , I caught on .
" I finally figured out what to do when someone tries to punch me ," I said to my teacher one day .
" What ?" he asked .
" Duck ," I said .
Back in the sandlot, Essam asked me what I wanted to do that day. To my surprise, I decided to go horseback riding. I had never ridden a horse before in my life.
Once,
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when I was about three, a relative had placed me on top of a horse. That stallion looked so big. I immediately toppled off. The fall knocked the wind out of me, in that painful way that happens when you take a sudden, unexpected blow to the solar plexus. A group of relatives stood around laughing, watching me roll on the ground groaning and trying desperately not to cry. I never mounted a horse again, except the beautiful, carved, wooden ones on the merrygoround at the fair.
Now, I swung my leg over the side of this horse and mounted it as if I had been riding all my life. The saddle was layers of old blankets tied around the horse's back.
Essam's nephew, the young man who had accompanied me to the pyramids, rode next to me again. We started at a slow trot, precariously scaling the rocky hills.
When we reached the flat expanse of the desert, we both began galloping through the dust. I leaned forward, riding that horse as fast as he would go. The February air blew cool against my face.
I felt powerful and free.
After an hour or so, we came to a pile of rocks and dismounted. I sat in the sand, leaning against the rocks, drinking from the bottle of water I had stashed in my backpack.
"Do you have a husband?" the young man asked.
"Not anymore," I said. "I'm divorced."
"You ought to come to Egypt and live," he said. "You could have more than one husband here."
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I gave him a strange look. "Women can have more than one husband here?" I asked.
"Oh, yes," he said.
"What about the men? Do they get more than one wife?"
"Yes," the young man said.
"I think you've got that confused," I said. "You're telling me that women get more than one husband, men get more than one wife, and everyone is able to make sense out of that and live happily?"
The young man smiled. "Yes. You should come here. You'd like it."
I laughed.
"I probably would," I said.
We got back on our horses and returned to the perfume shop.
Essam had lunch
I'd feel off balance and confused. Something wouldn't feel right, then I would doubt whether I could trust myself and I would be uncertain about what to do next. But dealing with these situations became more complicated. Recognizing them was often tricky.
At first, this had caught me off guard. Slowly I began to understand that I needed to pay closer attention. From shopkeepers to healers to lovers, in personal life and in the business world, a wealth of people are ready to cast their spells on anyone walking softly and not carrying a stick.
It's said that Joan of Arc used to make her warriors get
Page 102
down on their knees, confess their sins, and cleanse their souls before going into battle. Maybe she knew intuitively that any lingering, unresolved guilt would muck up the soul and weaken a warrior's power.
In Aikido , students learn the art of sending negative energy back to the sender . It is an art based on nonresistance . Strength and speed are not considered power . Students learn to stay alert and focused — not paranoid — watching in front of and behind themselves .
I felt confused at first — and for a while — when I began studying Aikido . Each time my teacher or another student made a move on me in training , I would look at my teacher and say ,'' What should I do ? I don ' t know what to do ."
My teacher wouldn ' t respond . He believes that students learn best by struggling through the confusion and figuring things out themselves . I would be twisted , pulled , pushed , yanked , and sometimes punched . And I would just stand there . After months of passively allowing myself to be mauled , I caught on .
" I finally figured out what to do when someone tries to punch me ," I said to my teacher one day .
" What ?" he asked .
" Duck ," I said .
Back in the sandlot, Essam asked me what I wanted to do that day. To my surprise, I decided to go horseback riding. I had never ridden a horse before in my life.
Once,
Page 103
when I was about three, a relative had placed me on top of a horse. That stallion looked so big. I immediately toppled off. The fall knocked the wind out of me, in that painful way that happens when you take a sudden, unexpected blow to the solar plexus. A group of relatives stood around laughing, watching me roll on the ground groaning and trying desperately not to cry. I never mounted a horse again, except the beautiful, carved, wooden ones on the merrygoround at the fair.
Now, I swung my leg over the side of this horse and mounted it as if I had been riding all my life. The saddle was layers of old blankets tied around the horse's back.
Essam's nephew, the young man who had accompanied me to the pyramids, rode next to me again. We started at a slow trot, precariously scaling the rocky hills.
When we reached the flat expanse of the desert, we both began galloping through the dust. I leaned forward, riding that horse as fast as he would go. The February air blew cool against my face.
I felt powerful and free.
After an hour or so, we came to a pile of rocks and dismounted. I sat in the sand, leaning against the rocks, drinking from the bottle of water I had stashed in my backpack.
"Do you have a husband?" the young man asked.
"Not anymore," I said. "I'm divorced."
"You ought to come to Egypt and live," he said. "You could have more than one husband here."
Page 104
I gave him a strange look. "Women can have more than one husband here?" I asked.
"Oh, yes," he said.
"What about the men? Do they get more than one wife?"
"Yes," the young man said.
"I think you've got that confused," I said. "You're telling me that women get more than one husband, men get more than one wife, and everyone is able to make sense out of that and live happily?"
The young man smiled. "Yes. You should come here. You'd like it."
I laughed.
"I probably would," I said.
We got back on our horses and returned to the perfume shop.
Essam had lunch
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