Dangerous Compassions

what I hate about myself

what I hate about myself

Hello–how are you doing?  I’ve been thinking about what I hate about myself.  Normally I am very kind and caring to myself.  I work hard to love myself unconditionally, as you know.

But every once in a while, I get frustrated with things I do and find myself spouting angrily, “I hate that about me!  I hate it!  Arrrrg!  I can’t stand that about me!”

yoga example

This morning I did yoga with my dear yoga teacher at Ample Movement.  It was the end of a class, time for shavasana, and I was lying there on my tummy.

“Wow, I used to always cry during shavasana,” I thought.  “Weird–I never cry anymore.  Why did I always cry during shavasana, and when I did quigong too?  Back when we lived in Las Vegas?”

My yoga teacher was talking in a kind, quiet way, inviting the students to move our attention to different parts of our bodies.  She guided us on a tour of our own sensations.  I started to cry, and it was ironic, as I’d just been wondering why I don’t anymore.

I was crying because I felt so relaxed, held in her voice.  It made me miss my mom and the safe feeling I can’t find anymore, with her no longer a living person.  I’ve seen glimpses and looked for it in all the wrong places.

Friends and pop psychology tell me to find it in myself.  Whatevs.  It’s not the same.  It’s far inferior.  I can’t think my way out of that, or convince myself that it was me, keeping safe the whole time.


Also I had been thinking earlier of a man I loved.  What I felt–what he felt.  What I wanted, vs what I got.

I thought he was different–yeah, there was a spark of different.  But he lives far away, and he had the same problems I see everywhere.

But I miss what little good we had.  The good part feels still alive somewhere, if only I could isolate it and drink it.

Yummy–glug glug.  But no.  You can’t isolate the good part.  It’s all swirled together.  I hate being able to see the angel inside the man.  I guess it’s ok to see it, as long as I can smile and let it go.


Luckily Ming is not a man and is all angel.  Yeah!  I get to live with this miracle of compassion, family to the best.  He is super smart too.  And the prettiest.

I’ve been thinking a lot about the desire to nest.  I’m an outlier nester.  Well, I’m working on a different post about that.


I was crying because I missed my mom, I’m a bit heartbroken about the far away man I mention, and I was feeling grief about Las Vegas also.  Yeah, many things were a struggle for me, in that den of debauchery.  The summer heat was the killer, but there were other problems too.

That last year Ming and I lived in Las Vegas, I would pull the four of cups.  I was restless and making things livable through a ton of work.  I was doing so much art making and writing that I believed that it didn’t matter where I lived.

“It’s inner world work, and I can do that here or anywhere,” I said.  But I was wrong.  Place matters a lot.

The realization crashed in me, as I lay there crying during shavasana.  I was working so hard to be happy in Las Vegas.  I built my well-being over and over, like the sandcastle that Las Vegas was knocking down.  Nasty mean forces kick it down all day–I build it up all night.

Then yoga was over.  I’d left a puddle of tears on the window seat cushion of the people we’re house sitting for.  “Oh crap,” I thought.  “I hope that doesn’t leave a mark.”  I prayed the tears would dry invisibly.

telling Ming

Then I was telling Ming about why I was crying during shavasana.  I told him about the dude, and my deep grief missing my mom while being held in my yoga teacher’s voice.  Then I told him about the whole Las Vegas pain.

“That’s exactly what I hate about myself!  I hate that about myself!” I yelled.

Yes, I was yelling in this beautiful house we’re staying at in the Bay Area.  This house is worth one and a half million dollars.  I looked it up.

“I work so! fucking! hard! to see the good in things!  And it’s nonsense!  It’s denial!  My life there was not good, for a long time!  And why can’t I see that and move on!  Why do I keep clinging to the good parts and burying the bad under as much denial as possible?  I hate! that! about! me!” I said.

Yes, it was a fit.  I was hoppin’ mad.  Not every day I get so mad at myself.  But it does happen.

prayer for the truth

Anxiety runs in the family, and denial does too.  They hold hands.  We use denial as a shield, to try to protect us from anxiety.  Addiction is another favored coping mechanism.  What a horrible combination.  But very common, I’ve heard.

So my prayer today is for truth.  Please, Mother God–help me comprehend the truth and face it.  Please help me stay strong enough to live as much as possible in the difficult place called Reality.  Then I can know when to stay and when to go.

I work really hard to dwell in truth, but it’s a constant struggle.  I break through to a new truth layer and think I’m there, but there’s always another layer to break through.

How do people with paying jobs and / or other humans to take care of do it?  I can barely care for my body, soul, and mind with no paying job and no dependents.

I guess that’s part of why our culture is so dysfunctional.  Most people are too busy with work and recovery from work to look inside.

consent requires honesty

Consent is only possible with honesty.  And honesty is only possible if you know yourself, including what you really want, who you really are, how you really feel.  In my experience, most people are clueless about all of those.  We get so traumatized from violence done to us, by other people who didn’t know themselves, what they wanted, or who they really were.

So it’s like a nasty trauma waterfall.  I’m an anarchist, but if I was queen of the world, I would declare a jubilee of all debt forgiven, captives free, universal income, and no paid jobs for a year.  How about that.  I think there would be mass riots, chaos as people were forced to look at their own lives.

Who knows.  Maybe the riots would die down, and people could start to know themselves.  We could all do radical mental health, Disabled Resilience Permaculture, and think about why we were crying during yoga class.

what I hate about myself

I think about what I hate about myself and try to fix it.  If I can shed another layer of denial, I can do a better job being who I am.  More light can shine in.

I’m on earth for good reasons.

  • to love
  • speak my truth
  • feel pleasure
  • enjoy this human birth, doing the things only a person can

Among all the animals, humans are famous for our use of language.  And I’m good at language-ing, so I hit the jackpot.  Thank you for enjoying the riches with me.

what I hate about myself

By Laura-Marie

Good at listening to the noise until it makes sense.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *