I’m in the process of writing a few different things right now, and I noticed they all have something in common.

One is a long defense and explanation of why I don’t have a fancy degree. Another is a long apologia and exploration of why or whether it’s possible for me to learn Korean and be interested in the culture without commodifying or trivializing it.

In my head I’m working on a furious defence of coaching, why it is a real and valuable service that’s worth paying for. Even in my private, handwritten journal I fill pages and pages with graphite, explaining to myself why the choices I make are okay.

Defending, defending, defending, against invisible, imaginary foes. (I am not well-known enough to have haters. These voices are all inside my head.)

Things Happen for a Reason

The thing is, I believe things happen for a reason, not in a cosmic-intent woo-woo way, but in a logical, causative way. And so I know that there are reasons why I don’t have a good degree. There are reasons why I’m learning Korean, why people do harm by carelessly consuming another culture, and why (I hope) I am not doing that. There are reasons why coaching works, why some people think it doesn’t, and why it’s expensive sometimes. And there are reasons why I have made the choices I’ve made.

I have thought about it all and I can explain.

I can explain

Understanding why things happen is powerful for me. I like recognizing the cause of an effect. It’s empowering — if you know how some cause in the past created some effect in the present, you can make some action in the present which might have some effect in the future.

Understanding is a strength of mine. I’m good at figuring out cause and effect, and I’m good at explaining it.

But sometimes a strength can become a shadow strength, something that you overuse to avoid discomfort.

The real why

So I’ve been figuring out and explaining why, why am I like this, why is it okay to be like this?

But the real why is, why do I need to explain myself? What’s the discomfort that I’m avoiding by using my strengths of connection and analysis?

It’s the discomfort of feeling that I’m not good enough. I believe that if I can only add myself up and connect all the dots, I can eventually figure out — even prove — that I’m good enough.

And what’s the why behind that? (Ask why five times, isn’t that a business rule?)

This is where we slip into therapy territory. Which is fine, that’s good territory, especially when you have a therapist. Or a blog. (I have both.)

I’m not a psychologist but I’d wager my deeply held suspicion that I’m not good enough — and that therefore I need to be excused and explained — comes in part from a childhood home where emotions, particularly mine, were denied and suppressed. Add to that the school bullying that started when I was around six and didn’t stop until I moved back to Canada at twelve, and I guess you have a recipe for someone who never feels good enough.

I don’t know how to fix it. I wish I did. But I’m pretty sure that writing pages and pages about how I’m actually an okay person, see, here’s a 12-point bulleted list about why, is not the right answer.

So, I’m going to put those defensive essays on the back burner, and I’m going to find something else to write. And maybe I’ll take this up with my therapist the next time I talk to her.