The Here-Now: How My Affirmations Saved Me

"I want you to do something for me," Faye, my life coach, said. "I want you to go over to my table and pick up a stone."

I was sitting in her dining room when she asked me if I knew where it was safest for me.

I shook my head. I hadn't felt safe in so long; I felt angry and spiteful and frustrated and the saddest I'd ever felt in my life, and I couldn't figure out how I hadn't died under the weight of it all. Under the pressure of trying to be the best at work, at having the most perfect wedding, the most perfect life, of not having the most perfect body. Hating the rolls and bumps and grooves that covered all of me.

“You realize you haven’t posted a photo of yourself online in years,” my sister said during her visit over the summer. “It’s like you lost yourself somewhere.”

Years prior, when I’d first moved to Florida, I’d closed myself in my closet to cry out the darkest tears.

“I just don’t know,” I whispered to my mom on the phone, “if this is the life I want.”

“Everyone goes through this,” she said. “Give it some time.”

How could she have known, if I didn’t tell her, that every morning I’d walk around my neighborhood, with the dogs, with the same sentence running through my head. My mantra for four years.

If I still feel this way in eight months, I’m going to leave.

If I still feel this way in eight months, I’m going to leave.

If I still feel this way in eight months, I’m going to leave.

If I still feel this way in eight months, I’m going to leave.

If I still feel this way in eight months, I’m going to leave.

If I still feel this way in eight months, I’m going to leave.

At some point, Faye would tell me that my fear had been greater than my truth. The part of me that wanted a safe life battled the part of me that needed a different one. 

How could I have known, if no one told me, that the voice in my head that held me back the most was fear. This gripping fear turned me into a shaking, skittish, neurotic version of myself. This version of myself said you are instead of I am.

“What are your affirmations?” Faye said. “What do you tell yourself.”

“I don’t have any.”

“That’s the first step,” she said. “Find what you need to hear.”

So I listened for all of the things I needed to say to myself.

You are pretty. You are smart. You are strong. You are worthy. You are capable of change. You are enough.

And that voice, that voice, was the same voice that said: You are ugly. You can’t survive on your own. You are not good enough. You can’t leave. You can’t leave. You are not safe if you leave.

“Keep saying them,” Faye said. “Until you believe them.”

You are pretty. You are smart. You are strong. You are worthy. You are capable of change. You are enough.

“Will you marry me?” he had asked.

“You’re lying,” I had said. “You’re lying, you’re lying, you’re lying.”

You are lying. You are lying. You are lying. You are lying. You are lying. You are lying. You are lying.

And so many "I love you" texts went unanswered on my end; so many "I miss you" texts I ignored. So many days I drove home from work with the same thoughts screeching through me.

And it wasn't fair that I was hurting someone else. And it wasn't fair that my most terrified self buried the truth from everyone. And it wasn't fair that Faye could see right through it all when no one else seemed to.

“Love isn’t enough,” Faye said. “You need people who see you.”

And it wasn't fair that someone who'd only really known me a few weeks could see all the deepest, brightest parts of me more than the person I'd spent the last five years with. And it wasn’t fair that I only let him see the worst parts of me.

“The Alex I know is so kind and so smart and so deep and so curious and so funny,” Faye said. “You are not Alex when you are around him.”

“Alex,” my friend, Teri, said, “all the parts of you that you’re afraid to show? Those are the parts that make me love you.”

And it wasn't fair that my fear: I’m not safe if I leave you was greater than my truth: I do not want this life.

"You came into his life, you know," Faye said. "He did not come into yours."

I felt the sting of four year old tears as they rolled down my face, large in their truth.

"Say that," Faye said. "Whatever you're holding back, that's what you need to say to me now." 

"This life," I said, every part of me on fire, "is boring, and it is not mine."

I didn't realize how much I'd just been surviving instead of living until I left.

“Look back,” my boss said, “and tell me if you ever would have thought you’d have made it through this and come out better for it. You went to London alone. You did this.”

You are pretty. You are smart. You are strong. You are worthy. You are capable of change. You are enough.

“I see the change in you,” my friend, Nirmal, said.

You are pretty. You are smart. You are strong. You are worthy. You are capable of change. You are enough.

“You’re better than you’ve ever been,” my friend, Thalia, said. “It’s good to see you smile.”

You are pretty. You are smart. You are strong. You are worthy. You are capable of change. You are enough.

“It’s good to see you,” my coworker, Paola, said.

You are pretty. You are smart. You are strong. You are worthy. You are capable of change. You are enough.

I had made my life about someone else, forgetting myself somewhere along the way. How invisible I felt at home until I found a job full of people who made me feel seen.

“I’m afraid,” I said.

“Say it out loud,” Faye said.

“I’m afraid,” I said, “if I move out, I won’t want him in my life any more.”

“I know,” she said. “That’s been your fear this whole time. It doesn’t mean you don’t love him, you know. It doesn’t mean you didn’t.”

You are pretty. You are smart. You are strong. You are worthy. You are capable of change. You are enough.

"It's right here," she said. "Here-Now. This is where you're the safest. The present."

She'd been saying this to me over and over for weeks, but, this time, it was different.

"This moment right now is the only one where you know what is happening. The future? You have no idea what the fuck is happening there. That's a terrifying place to be, isn't it? Why go there when you can be here, in this moment, where you are alive, Al." 

I had spent so long making up stories of what my life would be like, what it would feel like, what it would be. I had spent so long wondering: Is this all I get to have. Is this all my life gets to be.

"It's not a bad life, Al," Faye said. "It's just not yours."

I was drowning. I needed real.

"Go pick up a stone." 

I nodded, slowly moving from the chair I'd planted myself in. I felt the weight in my chest pulling me down towards the engraved stones: luck, fortune, love, peace.

I felt my fingers reaching for love, and I quickly pulled back when I realized how automatic it had been.

You are pretty. You are smart. You are strong. You are worthy. You are capable of change. You are enough.

"I reached for love," I said, "but that's not the one." 

"Okay," she said. "Take your time. Pick the one that calls to you."

I reached back down, seeing it for the first time.

"What did you choose instead?"

I rubbed my fingers over the stone in my hand, small circles over an imperfect object that I didn't know I needed.

You are pretty. You are smart. You are strong. You are worthy. You are capable of change. You are enough.

"Peace," I said. "I chose peace." 

You are pretty. You are smart. You are strong. You are worthy. You are capable of change. You are enough.

“I accidentally rubbed off all the letters,” I said. “On the peace stone Faye let me pick.”

“Maybe peace rubbed itself into you,” John said right before I gave him back the ring. And I would love him forever for it.

You are pretty. You are smart. You are strong. You are worthy. You are capable of change. You are enough.

“You know,” I said earlier this week. “This Saturday, October 12th, was the day I was supposed to get married.”

“Really,” Faye said. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure,” I said. I shifted my phone against my ear.

“Do you finally see that infinite possibilities exist?”

I am pretty.

I am smart.

I am strong.

I am worthy.

I am capable of change.

And I am enough.

“Oh,” I said, a smile breaking through. “Oh, yes.”

And I breathed.