Not Good Enough (and more)

Eye-Opening Moments are real-life stories of adversity, encounters, and perspectives intertwined. In this episode you will hear about Not Good Enough & How I Found Calmness.

Website: https://inspiremereads.com
Books: https://amazon.com/author/emily-kay-tan.2021_

Chapters

• 0:21 Introduction
• 1:01 Not Good Enough
• 11:59 How I Found Calmness
• 20:13 Key Takeaways

Transcript

Hello and welcome to episode #199 of Eye-Opening Moments where you’ll hear stories of adversity, encounters, and perspectives intertwined. They are moments that can lift your spirits, give you some food for thought, or move you. For the introspective mind that likes to reflect, discover, and find solutions or meaning in a complex life, this is for you. I’m your host Emily Kay Tan. In this episode, you will hear about Not Good Enough & How I Found Calmness.

Not Good Enough                                                                   

Ecstatic that I got straight A's, I showed Grandpa. He said what is this? There is one A- here. "Not good enough," he shook his head. Excited to apply for college, I told Uncle Ray. He said, "You are too stupid to go to college." Feeling low, I didn't know if my dreams of going to college could come true. Ranked number 2 in my school, I deemed myself not good enough because I was not number one. The first child to be tossed out to live with my grandmother, I was sure I was not good enough to be loved or wanted. Frequently labeled as not good enough can harm a person, like damaged goods. Don't the abusers know this?! As the abused, I was hurt, but there are simple and complex lessons to learn from being told you are not good enough.

I thought I was not good enough because my relatives told me so. I believed them like it was a fact. I even found plenty of evidence to confirm it. I didn't get into an Ivy League school like my aunt and uncle, so I wasn't smart enough. I didn't get compliments for my looks like my older sister, so I was not pretty enough. I was not as skinny as my younger sister, so I was not thin enough. I didn't make millions of dollars like Uncle Rick, so I was not rich enough. One boyfriend told me I was too quiet and shy, so I took it to mean I was not good enough. 

And then I got married. The torture continued. I didn't know how to change the oil or tune the car, so my husband said I was not good enough. When he had a problem I could not solve for him, he said my Master's degree did not make me smart enough. Worse, he asked how I got to be a teacher when I didn't know something he wanted to know. He then attacked me for making less money than he did as an engineer; he claimed I was less worthy because I made less money than him. I didn't know that I would be susceptible to such treatment by my husband. I told my husband I was not perfect; I felt good saying it because I came to accept it, but he retorted. "You can at least try to be," he said. Shocked and hurt that he did not accept me as human, I knew I was in trouble.

Battered by others that I was not good enough, I was driven to be a perfectionist. What is wrong with that? Isn't it good to always try to improve and better oneself? Always striving to do better or achieve more showed up in my actions; I worked hard and accomplished many things. However, it wasn't until I got a husband who was more of a perfectionist than me that I learned how detrimental it could be. He inadvertently gave me my first lesson on why it was not so good to be a perfectionist. 

When we worked on remodeling his house before we got married, I learned the depths of Anson's perfectionism. He was a handyman, and no construction work, big or small, was ever done to his satisfaction by professionals or me. He was never satisfied. Because he was such a perfectionist, he started many tasks but could not complete them satisfactorily. He was even fired from a job because he could not meet deadlines, as he said his work was not yet perfect. How could he ever be happy when no one could ever do anything perfect enough for him, including himself? I saw firsthand that it was not worth it. My happiness is more important than being perfect. Though I was still a perfectionist, I comforted myself that I was not an extreme one like Anson. I imagine he couldn't be too satisfied about anything in life. I didn't want to be in his shoes. Lesson learned to a degree.

When I began taking writing classes, it challenged my perfectionism to another level. Writing requires many revisions, and for a perfectionist, the modifications could be endless. A 30-day challenge to write one story a day for thirty days tested my perfectionism to the core. Because I had to submit a new story each day, there was not enough time to perfect each story to my satisfaction. I took on the challenge, so I had no choice but to write what I could and submit assignments on time. With no time to revise for the umpteenth time, I wrote and wrote. Creativity stepped forward. A free flow of ideas gushed out, splattering words all over the page. I had no time to judge, second guess, or correct myself. An aha moment hit me. Through writing stories for thirty days, I discovered how I had stunted my growth because of my demand for perfection. Because I often judged myself harshly, I stopped myself from doing many things, or if I did them, I left myself dissatisfied. Lesson learned to a higher level.

From that day forward, when I was dissatisfied with something as not good enough, I would tell myself to let it go and move forward. The more I reminded myself, the less pressure and stress I gave myself. While trying to do your best and always working for more improvements are goals to achieve, taking them to the extreme or at the cost of happiness is not worth the price. I only need to refer to Anson and stop the perfectionist in me in my tracks.

When I started giving speeches in a Toastmasters club, I worried about how the participants judged me, which gave me great discomfort. I thought I could not be good enough, or they would think I was not good enough. However, one day, I asked myself why I should care what the group of strangers thought of me. Then, I stopped caring what they thought of me and began expressing myself freely. Feeling free to be myself, I was authentic and gave speeches of a high caliber. Stopping the demands I put on myself to do things perfectly, I began being myself. And being myself can't be wrong.

If you say I am not good enough, it is not a fact. It is your opinion. Your opinion belongs to you, not me. I am good enough because I say so. It is so simple, yet I almost forgot that when I was a child, teenager, twenty, thirty, and forty-something, I thought it was a fact that I was not good enough for anyone.

I wasn't good enough for my mother to love me. She gave me away when I was five. I never thought I was good enough to be loved by anyone, even though I had five marriage proposals. It didn't occur to me that those men sincerely loved me. In hindsight, many years later, it occurred to me that I was blessed to be loved by them all. I needed self-confidence and self-esteem to be at a certain level to acknowledge it. Lesson learned to yet another level. Being not good enough is a matter of perspective and is related to my perspective of myself.

I wasn't good enough for my family, boyfriends, and husband because they told me. Then, one night, I lay in bed, and a simple yet profound thought entered my mind. I said I wonder if Devin has thought much about me since we broke up all those years ago when he cheated on me. My next thought was that it didn't matter because he wasn't good enough for me. Another aha moment like lightning flashed before me. It wasn't so much that he did some bad things to be not good enough for me, but it was more that my self-confidence had increased so much that I could consider him not good enough for me! That is to say, I have progressed from feeling not good enough as a child to feeling good enough, more than good enough, as a mature woman.

My friends have long told me my boyfriends and ex-husband were not good enough for me or that they didn't deserve me. My friends thought highly of me, but I did not have a high opinion of myself. What they said never registered in my mind. I thought I was not good enough for them, but I finally got it when my self-esteem elevated to a much higher level. I am good enough, more than good enough as a human being. My opinion of myself is the opinion that matters the most because it is me who lives in my shoes.

It almost feels strange to say that Devin, the boyfriend who cheated on me, was not good enough for me, or my ex-husband, the controlling and anal man, was not good enough for me. My first boyfriend said I was too quiet and shy and told me I needed to improve. Of course, I can always do better, but now I get that he did not accept me for who I was, all the good and bad. He was indirectly saying I was not good enough. Perhaps the strange feeling is a new feeling or awareness that makes me feel a bit odd. I was used to feeling not good enough for others; I was not used to feeling or thinking that anyone was not good enough for me! For someone to be not good enough for me is a new phenomenon. I smile at this discovery because it tells me I have come a long way from low to high self-esteem, from a negative to a positive self-image.

If you say I am not good enough, I smile, brush the dirt off me, and walk away feeling free. All the adversities I have encountered strengthened me as I overcame each; I am confident I can move forward and soar like a bird. I am more than good enough. You are, too, and don't let anyone tell you otherwise!

How I Found Calmness

It was a light beige background with a dark blue swirl of a design for an area rug. It wasn't anything I particularly liked, but it was the best I could find for the studio apartment I moved into when I first moved abroad. The colors were not something I had ever chosen before. Little did I know that rug, not my first choice, would be the beginning of me decorating each new abode in unexpected ways. Something mysterious drew me to it, and I didn't realize it until years later!

I never thought too much about how I decorated each place I moved into. I only needed it to be neat and organized, spacious looking, and it was sufficient for me. My first studio apartment had one wall with all windows, and the bright sunshine each morning would blast in to brighten my entire studio when I opened the curtains a little bit. It gave me a warm feeling, and I loved my place even though it was far from the twenty-five hundred square feet house I used to live in. My room did not have much color other than the beige rug with a blue swirl on it. However, I got blue towels and a blue shower curtain to match it. I suppose that was my limited effort to pop some color into my place! 

After returning home from my stint abroad, I moved to another place. I wanted to buy another rug. I found one; strangely, I chose one with shades of blue and gray. The design was swishes of blue and gray against each other, or gray swishes crossing over blue swishes from the opposite direction; there were two sets of them. Again, they were not my colors of choice, but looking at the area rug, I decided to buy it. I matched a light gray couch with it, which was the décor of my new abode. I didn't think much of it other than I liked simplicity. I did not like clutter or a place that looked too busy. One friend who visited me said, "It feels so calming, so Zen." "Really? I wasn't going for that, but that sounds good," I said. 

A few years later, I decided to move back abroad. I viewed four places, and none of them appealed to me. I couldn't see myself living in any of them. I was tired when I was on my way to look at the fifth place. I only hoped it would be decent or livable. As soon as I walked in, I said, "This is it. I want it. I am ready to go over the rental agreement." And just like that, I moved in. After buying some storage, cleaning, unpacking, and putting everything in its place, I noticed something most surprising.

I had laid down that rug with hues of blue and gray. The one with swishes of different shades of gray over swishes of different hues of blue was the same one I bought from the USA and shipped abroad. Surprisingly, the sunny sky-blue walls and the gray curtains already part of the place matched my area rug! This coincidence told me this place was meant to be my new home!

Soon after I moved in, I noticed that I stayed home frequently if I was not working or running errands. I thought it was because I enjoyed writing stories so much. I used to travel often or explore new places, and now it appeared that all I did was stay home and write whenever I could. I want to write and write because I love writing. But I think something else was at work when my friend Misty visited me with her three-year-old daughter, Mia.

Before my friend came, she warned me that her daughter Mia was fussy and did not know how long she could stay, but Misty promised to visit since we hadn't seen each other for some years. She was busy with her daughter, and I had returned to my home country. Back abroad, with our busy lives, we finally found time to meet. Upon arrival, little Mia plopped herself on my couch and helped herself to my stuffed animal on the couch. She sat quietly for two hours while Misty and I conversed at the kitchen table. 

I commented on how well-behaved Mia was, and Misty said she was surprised and baffled about how well-behaved her daughter was, especially since it was the first time she went to a stranger's house. After two-plus hours, Mia finally made a sound, and Misty got up to bring her to sit on her lap at the kitchen table. Again, Mia sat quietly. After three hours of talking, Misty told her daughter they were leaving. Mia moaned in disagreement. Her mom motioned her to get up, and Mia started to whine and then cry. 

Misty was wholly baffled about why her daughter didn't want to leave. Then I had an aha moment. Like Mia, I also didn't want to leave my home. Now, what was it about my home? I suspect my abode had a mystery magnet making its occupants want to stay. It must be because even a three-year-old could sense it. I guess it was feng shui, the placement and position of objects in the home. It had to be. What else? Related to feng shui is also color. Different colors evoke different moods or emotions.

My place's primary colors are blue and gray because all the walls are a sunny, sky-blue, or pastel blue color; my couches and curtains are gray, and my area rug is a combination of the two colors. I searched for the meaning of the colors and discovered that one of the meanings of blue is calm and security. It is spot on. I feel relaxed and peaceful the moment I get home. I enjoy peace and clarity in writing stories and completing many tasks at home. It is the blue walls that help me relax and be productive the way I like. I also feel safe from the world; it is my quiet sanctuary; it is incredible what the blue walls do for me! I did not come to this conclusion until little Mia, who can only go by instinct, sensed it, too. 

Winter came, and it felt colder than ever before. I already had a warm blanket, but the blanket covering did not feel warm. Out shopping, I found a soft blue and gray blanket covering. After slipping the blanket covering on, not only did I feel extra warm under the covers, but I also felt warmer just looking at the cover of my blanket! 

As I sat writing stories one day, I mused over how I enjoyed feeling calm and peaceful in my place every day at home. Blue never seemed to be my color of choice, but somehow, I was drawn to it. It wasn't until I ended up with a home of blue walls throughout the place that I discovered how much the color affected me or gave me a sense of peace and relaxation. Accidentally or instinctively, I found my place of peace. Though you could say that it is only a color, the impact on my daily life at home is enormous. Thankful that my home provides a relaxing and safe haven, I found my calm.

Look at the meaning of colors and choose the ones that can create the emotions you want. It is simple, but the results can affect you and make a difference in how you feel. And how you feel is all too important not to give it some attention.

Key Takeaways                                                                  

Though many have told me I am not good enough, I declare that I am more than good enough.

Though my home is my haven, my sky-blue walls bring calmness and peace to comfort me daily.

Next week, you will hear two real-life stories called You Should Be & Poor Me, Rich Me. If you enjoyed this episode of Eye-Opening Moments, please text someone and ask them what they think about this podcast, or go to www.inspiremereads.com and leave a message. Thank you for listening!