How I Started Losing My Bags of Effs

illuminatingyou
Jan 20, 2024
10 min read

Updated: Sep 27, 2024

Leaning in to embrace the messy without perfection, hoping for a lighter sense of self, and deciding that there are WAY less opinions out there, that truly matter, than you thought!

A somewhat wise, and sometimes brave, woman once spontaneously said: "I'm dropping that bag of effs," or something along those lines, on a silly little Facebook live where she was putting her makeup on online. Who knew that my bags of effs would become a thing (multiple things?) that spoke to a woman who was watching me? Not me, the "someone" with a history of carrying bags of effs. And here we go.

Just so you know, I am not an expert on anything. I am not a life coach. I am not a guru. I am not going to promise you that I can fix all your insecurities in the blink of an eye. I don't have all the answers.I probably don't even have most of the answers. And I used to douse myself with baby oil and Sun In while catching some rays at the lake, so perhaps my judgement can't always be trusted.

...And as you read that, you are now wondering what in the hell you're reading this for then, right?

What I do have to share is my newly embraced perspective, for what it may be worth. To let the truths I've come to see, and those I'm still working on feeling, find a space outside my head, so they can find their way into someone else's, and maybe into their heart and soul as well.

Effing Insecurity and Anxiety - The Cycle Goes Around

I've battled with serious, friggin personal insecurity and anxiety my ENTIRE life, as far as I can remember. I didn't always have a name or label for it, but that's what it was. Stealing time and joy, creating havoc that didn't need to be there and often winning a battle I didn't ask to fight.

If I think back, I can't even remember when I started to care so much about all the things outside of me and my control. Those things that also seemed to influence, too intensely, how I felt about myself in a myriad of different ways. Isn't that strange? Do you remember when it was for you? Probably not. It's like the ability to drown out the noise of outside opinions was only ever a facade, and we have always had that frustratingly annoying voice inside us, telling us which filter to use to see ourselves and our world through, to somewhat pre-determine what we feel or think or do through the lens of someone else's choosing.

Why the Eff Now?

I think this has been on my mind more lately because I've entered the 'mama' stage where my 13 year old daughter has started coming to me for support and guidance through some tough things in her world. Those things that most of us moms remember vividly, and maybe painfully ~ the seemingly inevitable friendship dramas of junior high, the self-doubt and self-depreciating comparisons, the worries about how we might have said or done the 'wrong' thing; the wild exhaustion that is the transition from child to teenager, complete with hormones and acne and body evolutions and social influence and peer pressure...oh, and more hormones.

I have been sitting with her and we talk, cry, laugh, cry again, then talk some more, and I keep hearing myself saying things my mother told me and tried to teach me when I was her age. I'm saying things to her that I've read in self-help books, or heard in the latest self-improvement podcast or Insta reel. I'm repeating lessons I've taken from years with my therapist. All important, meaningful, and special lessons I want her to know and embrace RIGHT NOW, even though I know I can't hurry or minimize this process for her, and she can't yet truly know these things in her deepest self. Not yet.

Of course she can't, because that isn't how our brains work at that age, and as a mom and educator for the past 20 years, I get it. But I sure wish that wasn't the case. It is so hard to watch your child, your daughter - your mini-me - feel and ache and worry and own so many things you did too, but didn't have to (if only you knew that!) and don't own anymore. But that's probably another post for another day.

So back to focusing on ourselves, ladies.

What The Effs Are All About

So. Many. Things.

Sometimes, oftentimes, they were about clothes. "Hey mom, remember that time you got all my back to school clothes at the local Zellers shop, and you were so happy with my outfits - and I almost died of anticipated teasing trauma when you showed me the bag you brought home?"

Then there was the first time I went to a 'plus size' store to get clothes that "fit properly" - translation: I would have to embrace "old lady" styles, because no one in charge of fashion seemed to think that girls my age (was I really just 15 or 16?) needed to look cute or trendy or stylish, if they were larger than a size 10.

Maybe it was about hair - mine didn't flow or shine or go up in a cute, swingy,high ponytail like everyone else's seemed to, or then, do I do bangs like that popular girl, or a perm like that one pretty friend we all have, or will those make me look weird? (The answer after the fact was always yes, they will look weird, but I kept forgetting that part trying to make those things me.)

I bit my nails (hello again, anxiety!) so they never looked lovely, with or without polish. For a time I had glasses (before my days of contact wearing) and, by the way, those blue plastic frames that I chose with such excitement, were never admired by others like I thought they would be. I went through puberty about a hundred years before any of my friends so I was the 'girl with the full size bra' in grade 5.

Then there was the fact that I talked really, really fast - still do! - and it made me sound nervous all the time, even if I wasn't (though let's be honest, I probably was more often than not.). I loved playing with dolls and Barbies well past what seemed like it was socially acceptable, so that, of course, also made me a bit peculiar too, didn't it?

Oh, and my mom was the ONLY single mom in our neighbourhood that I knew of, and while I truly loved our happy family of 2, it certainly seemed like we were the odd gals out, and that made me wonder what people must think. Yet another reason, on a mountain of reasons, to worry and wish I was someone other than myself, because surely that person was "better".

That dreaded clothes thing above was a bi-product of yet another thing to worry about...perhaps the biggest thing in my completely insecure and worried tween and teen brain. Disordered eating had begun to rule my thoughts and my life, just not so anyone knew, and this became a constant source of comparison and self-hatred, embarrassment, shame and sadness...yet another thing to hide because it made me different, weird, less than, not 'normal.' You can probably insert any number of adjectives here, maybe ones you've used to describe how you felt against the world around you. (P.S. - This topic is big and important, and will also be saved for maybe another post, in order to honour it the way it would need to be, for me and for others, but it was a part of this bag of eff's story, so it had to make an appearance.)

What The Eff?

So here I am now. 46 and a few months more. Way too many mistakes behind me than I care to list (and who has the time to do that anyway, laundry is still waiting for me this afternoon, along with a nap on the couch with Bentley), and probably many more in front of me because, let's all be real, I'm not perfect, and I never will be.

And yet, I might just be the most content, peaceful, self-accepting and self-loving, proud and grateful for who I am, actually, than I ever thought I could be. Those bags of eff's were getting really, really damn heavy I decided, and somehow, someway, I have worked to begin setting them down and walking away from them.

They maybe served their purpose, I suppose. Perhaps I wouldn't or couldn't have become the me of today without dragging those stupid things around for all those years. Maybe I couldn't or wouldn't have been able to appreciate how good it feels NOW to be me, without knowing how hard I made it for myself to be me before. The bags all have their own labels, their own titles, and they certainly didn't get dumped off all at once.

I had always wanted to be the best "me" I could, but I didn't really know how to do that and it often felt too hard and too out of reach anyway, so I just stopped trying, I think and the bags of effs just kept multiplying. But hopefully, and eventually, we gain some perspective as we go along. In my case, age, serious self-reflection due in part to a lot of previous Oprah and Iyanla watching, a mom who never gave up on me, good medication, amazing therapy, and a willingness to start listening to the voices around me that were trying to build me up, all played their role in this. What I was doing clearly wasn't working for me (thank you Dr.Phil of the early 2000s) so I might as well be open to trying something else.

As we look back at our lists of mistakes AND lessons, as we lose those we love before we are ready to say goodbye, as we see ourselves in those we always hoped better for, and as we start to figure out and appreciate what WE really feel is important to our own hearts, it becomes possible to acknowledge a shift. That all those years of comparison and wishes, coulds and shoulds, were just holding us back from the peace of being just the right measure of enough that we were meant to be.

Who And What Are You Without Your Effs?

You are a free woman, that's who! Or a mosty free, but certainly, a much happier one. (spoiler alert - perfection DOES NOT EXIST!)

How does it feel to think about living in that freedom, instead of buried under the weight of your damn bags of effs???

I will never be a size 4 or 6, or probably even a 10 again. I will never have voluminous ringlets of balayage hair cascading down my back. I will never be the woman who wasn't divorced, or who wasn't a single mom. I will never be the spontaneous adventurer I love to watch on Survivor. I will never, ever, embrace public speaking, riding roller coasters, or eating sushi. I will never be the friend who hasn't struggled with mental health so much that I isolated until almost no one was left. I will never be anyone other than myself. So who the eff is that??

I am a beautiful, capable, worthy woman. I am a mama to 2 extraordinary children, who teach me more than maybe I teach them, and a "Michelle" to 2 bonus teens who also teach me lessons I've needed to learn.

I am an elementary teacher who chooses to creates calm, love, acceptance and laughter in my classroom, instead of district-celebrated task design, or award-winning project-based learning activities, and I own that proudly because of what I believe and accept my role and strengths to be.

I am someone who finally loves playing with makeup, clothes and fashion that works for ME, and makes me feel damn cute and sassy (but also super comfortable, because - 46 and still busy and tired a lot of the time....).

I am a fiance (who'd ever have thought?!) to a man I didn't expect to find, who has made it his own mission to help me see and believe that I'm entitled to love and kindness and compassion and fun, just for being exactly who I am at any given moment - not because of my jeans or my hair or my nails or my ability to get the attention of the room or answer all the Jeopardy questions correctly.

I try to be a supportive community member and a host of other things that bring positivity and light to the world in whatever small way I can.

That's a decently sized list, and it can only grow in all the best ways, as long as I carry forward only the things that serve me, inspire me, and show me love - not the things that drag me down.

What's the Effing Answer, Then?!

I told you I didn't have all the answers. I meant it - I really don't! :) But I have hope more days than I don't ~ for myself and for you ~ and I want you to have it too. Your journey (man, I really do hate the word journey but I don't know what else to call it lol) is truly your own, and I haven't carried your bags of effs to really know what's inside them. I know now that perfection is a myth, comparison is the stealer of joy, and waiting is the path to disappointment. Doing it - messy, wild, personally, and unapologetically, is where it's at.

Not everyday is fresh flowers and rainbows by the way. There are still lots of days I have to remind myself of all that I am trying to share here with you. Days that I have to work hard to convince myself to go out and join the world, because staying on the couch, in my fleece Christmas onesie regardless of the season we're in, with my weighted blanket and my dog, is WAY more appealing and much easier than people-ing sometimes.

Just give yourself a break, drop your shoulders and then do it again (thank you for that wisdom, Dr. Jody Carrington!), calm your butt down (thank you, also, KB!), and take a breath as you reflect, truly, on who you are and what you bring to the world, to your loved ones, and to yourself. I'm willing to bet you will smile. And maybe cry a little. And hopefully, most importantly, you start to put down those bags of eff's - one at a time - that are weighing you down, unfairly and unnecessarily. Talk to yourself like you would talk to someone you love. You deserve at least that much, though one day, I hope you see it as so much more.