How'd it go?

Okay, y'all!  It's August 31--the last day of the No-Self-Hateration Pledge Campaign.  We had lots of pledges, too!

Give ya'selves a hand! 

Well?  Well?!? How'd you do?  Did you fight the urge to hate on yourself? Did you find it impossible not to call your butt big or your tire spare?  Did you struggle with not insulting that lovely nose with the big bump that you inherited from grandma or cracking jokes on that scary second toe that's curiously longer than your big toe, or pointing out to your best friend that eh, you think you do look good for your age but your hands look old. Don't my hands look old? No? Are you blind? They're horrible.

Or.

Did you discover that it's more fun to be alright with yourself than not?  That your curves are actually kind of like Beyonce's (depending upon who you ask and how much they've had to drink) and that, actually, part of Beyonce's appeal is that no matter what she has going on, she totally OWNS it.

And isn't it funny how that person who is clearly imperfect or dealing with all kinds of everything who just decides to OWN it instead of drinking all that self-haterade . . . .isn't it funny how they always somehow pull it off?

That person could (and should) be you. For reals.

Look. We're all works in progress. But the point is that self hatred/self deprecating behavior/self picking-yourself-apartedness or whatever you want to call it, is like feeding yourself poison and expecting not to feel sick.

I think I'm just going to try to keep rolling with the pledge. I had several close calls--okay, straight up lapses--where I let some negative commentary slip while putting on my clothes. But mostly, I did okay. And I liked the idea of being kind to myself. It felt pretty darn good, actually.

On the way home from school yesterday, Zachary said, "Mom, you know what? I'm smart. You know I'm really, really smart to be only four. When I'm five, I'm going to be able to read inside my head without you hearing me because when you're smart you can do that."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah, Mom. And I am good at basketball even though I'm short. When I get taller I'm gonna be SUPER good. SUPER-DUPER good, right Mommy?"

"Fo' sho, Zachary."

I thought about the innocence of this declaration and wondered what I was or wasn't doing to foster him continuing to have that kind of positive self image. I didn't come up with the answer to that, but I do think being loving toward myself is a good start.  Not oblivious to my imperfections or complacent about areas of needed improvement.  Just loving in the meantime and in between time.

That's all I got.

I'd love to hear how it went for y'all or what your thoughts have been during these last two weeks!

Oh yeah--I got this, too.

I'll leave you with two excellent songs playing on my mental iPod today. Both are my go-to jams when I need to be reminded of why it's good to be alright with me. . . .

If you don't know the music of Miss Erykah Badu--fix that problem right here, right now by listening to this little sampling:

First up--"Cleva"  -- one of my favorite songs.  The lyrics are awesome--especially the end where she simply says over and over, "I'm alright with me. . . said I'm alright with me. . ."

"I got a little pot in my belly

and nowadays my figure ain't so fly

My dress ain't cost nothin' but seven dollars

but I made it fly--sh--I'll tell you why

'Cause I'm clever

when I bust a rhyme

I'm clever -- always on your mind

She's clever

and I really want to grow

but why come

I'm the last to know?"

. . . and another favorite from Erykah Badu -- "Bag Lady." Wow. The sista preaches on this one--do you hear me? P-REACHES. The song is essentially about how harboring all that negative energy (read: self-hate, an unforgiving spirit, anger, resentment, envy. . .)  can end up blocking your blessings. . . .whew! Steps on all kinds of toes, man! If you have a minute, watch this artistic video. It's amazing.

"Bag lady

You gon' miss your bus

You can't hurry up

'cause you got too much stuff

When they see you comin'

People take off runnin'

from you--it's true

Oh, yes they do. 

One day

All them bags

gon' get in your way

I said, one day

all them bags

gon' get in your way

so. . .pack light."

***
Have a cleva day. Oh, and pack light.

Leave it to the professionals.

"If I gave you sanity
For the whole of humanity,
Had all the solutions
to the pain and pollution

No matter where I live,
Despite the things I give,
You’ll always be this way
So go ‘head and….

Hate on me, hater
Now or later
‘Cuz I’m gonna do me
You’ll be mad, baby
(Go ‘head and hate)
Go ‘head and hate on me, hater
I’m not afraid of
What I got I paid for
You can hate on me."

~ Jill Scott's "Hate on Me"

_________________________________________

I was talking to a (beautiful, brilliant) friend on the phone the other day who laughed and said this during our idle conversation:

"Seeing as I'm a fat cow, I don't need to be eating anything."

Wait, huh? A fat cow? Wow. That's kinda harsh.

Alright, so here's what's on my mind today. . . .

Okay, can I please just step up onto my little soapbox for a moment-tito?

Ah hem. Don't mind if I do.

"Don't need no hateration. . . ." ~ Mary J. Blige

Now check it. I can assure you that if you have lived on this earth long enough, there is somebody somewhere who has had a negative word or two to say about you. Yes, YOU. They have either done so maliciously or through the ever-elusive backhanded compliment. Sometimes that person is a total stranger and other times it is one of the people nearest and dearest to you. Regardless of all that-- trust me, you've been "hated" on. Perhaps, like my friend did to herself, they have also gone so far as to criticize your eating habits. . . . referring to you as something even worse than a "fat cow." Maybe, just maybe, they called you a "beluga whale" instead. Or maybe even a "hungry, hungry hippo."

Yowza.

What if weight isn't your issue? What if it's something like. . . . how you talk or how you walk or how you do whatever it is you do? What if you are too short or too tall or speak with an accent or speak with an impediment or have a mole on your forehead or are gay or are effeminate or tomboyish and seem gay but aren't or are very conservative or are very not conservative or . . .or. . .or. . .sigh. See what I'm saying? There's always something to hate on.


I have found that of the worse things that YOU can come up with to hate on yourself, there is always someone somewhere who can do it better.

Which brings me to my soapbox and my mantra on self-deprecation-slash-self-hateration:

Leave the hating to the professionals. They are much better at it.

Someone who is looking to really insult you or cut you to all the way down to the white meat can probably do it much more efficiently than you can. Like, you might look in the mirror and pick yourself apart piece by piece. One tiny shred at a time. How inefficient! See, this is why you need a professional hater to do that for you. 'Cause a professional hater? Chile please. They rip the band aid right off.

Case in point:


You say "fat cow."
They say "gastric bypass called and said they missed you last week."

Ouch.

See? I'm saying. Why should you even bother insulting yourself? You just have know that someone has already made that their full time gig. And most are willing to work overtime at it. So leave it to them.

I know, I know. This sounds so unlike the Pollyanna Grady doctor, right? But honestly? It's really a feel good message. It really is. Because being mean can become habitual. And my point is that there are plenty of miserable people that have made it a habit to do just that--and they don't need your help.

But.

There are scores and scores of us who have targeted ourselves for our most consistent insults. Almost like we have this need to preemptively strike against ourselves before someone else can. And to that I say, Eeeeeeeehhhhnnnnnn! (*buzzer sound*)

So as of today, I declare the rest of this month: "No Hating on Myself Month."

Here's how it will work--quite simple, actually. The rules are that you can't say anything negative about YOURSELF for the next two weeks. In other words, for the rest of August, you make a pledge to leave all hating to the professionals. (Remember--they're much better at it.)

Here is the pledge:

(Place your right hand over your hip and then let your backbone slip)

I, insert your name here, do solemnly pledge to allow no insults directed toward or about myself to leave my lips for the rest of the month. This includes but is not limited to references about the following:

• butt size


• hair length


• baby weight


• belly circumference


• skin surface


• crows' feet


• height


• complexion


• salary


• material possessions


• marital status


• relationship status


• grades


• achievements in comparison to someone else


• achievements of your children


• size of your house


• make of your car


• mistake from your past


• compliments to others with reflexive insults to yourself in same breath

The good news is that you can liberally make reference to the following:

• Craziness of your own family members (but only in presence of other family members)


• Annoying quirks of your significant other (but only in absence of your significant other)


• Any person who stars on any reality television show including but not limited to any Kardashian, Snooki, the people on the Parking Wars show, and any of the housewives Real or Basketball. (Exception to this rule: "Swamp People" and the daddy on "Pawn Stars.")

***(play the anthem below and shake what your mama gave you if you commit)***

Vowed on this day in August 2011. . . . (insert your name here.)

***

If you are prepared to go on this self-hateration diet for the next two weeks and you pledge to leave it to the professionals, make your mark, people!

Oh. . .errr. . .or just comment. Heh.

Okay but on a serious note--JoLai and I did this last summer and it was amazing to have it brought to our attention how often we insult ourselves. We were floored at how much thought it took to not dog ourselves out--because even when it's done in humor, it's still not cool. And please don't get it confused--not hating on yourself doesn't mean that you aren't self-reflective or self-aware. If you cut people off when they talk and you notice that about yourself, by all means work on it. If you drive through the Chick-fil-A window and have that 1500 calorie shake three days a week, rethink that, too.

But calling yourself a "stupid blabbermouth" . . .or rather referring to yourself as a "fat pig?" That's a counterproductive no-no. Ya dig?

Alright, who's down?

You wit' me?

***
Happy Wednesday.

***
Now playing on my mental iPod--the "No Hating on Myself Pledge" anthem. . .
The one and only Jill Scott singing "Hate on me hater."