Growing up, I was a tomboy – always on the go. But inside? I was a mess – painfully shy, feeling inadequate and feeling like the black sheep of the family. I thought differently, and I looked at things differently than they did. And as the second child, I came after a big brother who was just this side of brilliant while I struggled to be average-ish.
I also struggled with depression, although I’d be in my mid-forties before I was diagnosed. A lot of suffering happened along the way. And my self-talk – that constantly blathering inner critic in my head – was sometimes so vicious I’d want to cry.
Self-talk is what we say to ourselves about ourselves and/or about our actions. It’s often extremely negative.
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