Transform what doesn’t serve you anymore. It’s the title of chapter eight of the book that I’m currently working on with illustrator MietzeB (see the image above). Chapter eight has been something. I wrote a first draft that wasn’t merely more than an idea.

After I decided to start all over again, rough draft number two saw the light. For sure, it was much more comprehensive than the previous one. But this second version got me into real trouble. No flow, no inspiration. Only fearful thoughts surfacing: ‘What will people think of me when they read that? I don’t want to be held as a victim.’ And this one: ‘I don’t want to hurt people in my direct surroundings who I love.’ The superfluous worry literally stopped me in my tracks.

I tried to deal with it by following my ‘favourite’ strategy: ‘Alright, here we go. Seven chapters down already, only three more to be done. Foot fully on the gas and go! Let’s get this thing over with.’

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I am a maker. Just like you, the neighbour, my mum and dad and everybody else. Creating is what we do. It’s human nature. The only thing is that we don’t always give ourselves permission to go ahead and make something.

Thoughts like: ‘This isn’t very useful, playing the piano in the afternoon. Am I not supposed to be working at this hour of the day?’ Or: ‘Creating? Is it safe or smart to be just creating, making a couple of sketches and drawings? Shouldn’t I be working my ass off instead, making a good living so that I can move into that huge villa close to the seaside where I’ve envisioned myself and my family living?’

Thank God I’ve learned to navigate these waves of doubt by consciously choosing joy over fearful thoughts occupying my mind. Permission granted. Let’s rock the piano.

But here’s the thing: giving myself permission to be creative within the safe walls of my home is one thing. Stepping into the world and sharing my first self-created attempts with others, is something else.

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What wants to be created through me right now? When I asked myself that very question this morning, I could sense how much I wanted to write. I was ready to write an article for you, for myself and for anyone who likes to read what I have to say.

Most and for all, because I wanted to. That’s way more than enough reason to start writing right away. No one else I’m looking at to get permission from.

So here I am, sitting at my desk. Jeroen’s computer handy as mine decided to crash earlier this week. Thank God for Jeroen, who is technically savvy and has decided to take care of getting everything on a separate hard disc and to start to collaborate with the people from Cool Blue to take care of the rest.

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‘Celebrate? What do you mean by celebrate? I can’t think of a single thing that I would want to celebrate today.’ And quietly she added to herself: ‘You go celebrate yourself.’

The question ‘What can we celebrate today?’ makes some of my clients highly uncomfortable. They don’t feel like celebrating anything, as this is not what their attention is focused on.

Like most of us, they are used to see the bad sides to stuff: the things that they haven’t accomplished, the phone calls that have not been made, the copy that wasn’t written, project x that has not been finished. It is easier to think of what is not here, than of what is here.

But this habit is disastrous to our results.

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‘As if nothing has changed over the last twenty years! I have grown older but am I not supposed to also be wiser by now?’ I was having a phone conversation with Elsa, a smart woman who had recently picked up some of her old journals from when she was in her early thirties. Only to find out that the issues that bothered her then, were the very same things that she is facing now she’s in her fifties.

I felt how painful this discovery was for her. And I sympathized with her. But I wasn’t surprised.

One thing I know for sure: it’s not about the job we’re in or the lover we are involved with. It is us that is the red thread in all of our stories. If we choose not to heal the parts in us that require our attention –yes this is a deliberate choice- we’ll run into painful situations over and over again.

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“Hi, I’m Carolien and I used to be a perfectionist. I haven’t given into perfectionist behavior over the last month.” If there was a group Perfectionists Anonymous, this is how I would have introduced myself.

As research professor Brene Brown has pointed out distinctly in her book The Gifts of Imperfection, perfectionism is an addiction. It’s a drug that people use in order not to have to feel shame or rejection. As a recovering perfectionist, I can totally relate.

I’m giving you the inside scope here. Of course, there are parts in me that would rather not to: “Are you insane? What will people think?!?.” But I also know that these parts aren’t my best advisors.

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Hey, this is strange. This always enthusiastic client of mine just walked out of the room but didn’t rave about the session we had just had. Maybe she felt she didn’t get enough out of it? How did I do? Have I possibly overlooked anything? I’ll make sure to do a better job when she comes back for her next session. Or even better, let me send her an email with some additional tips.

Ooops. Stop the tape. Let me pause here.

I realize I’ve just run straight into the rabbit hole called unworthiness. Of course it’s perfectly fine to send her an extra email, it will probably help her. However, in this case it is not. I only consider writing my client because she wasn’t as enthusiastic as she usually was which made me feel insecure.

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‘I don’t seem to be able to make a decision! I know I want to go to Siberia to train with this inspiring teacher, but I can’t get myself signing up for it. It’s driving me nuts.’ Me and Leisa, one of my fellow djembe students, were talking in the parking lot after class. It was obvious how making the decision weighed heavily on her. We talked a bit and then it occurred to me that what Leisa experienced is something that often happens to many of us. That is, if we don’t watch ourselves. Here’s what may occur:

When Leisa first learned about the trip she immediately had this sense of inner excitement. ‘Yeah, nature! I’ll be spending time in this really fabulous nature!’

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‘That was the very last lemon pie I baked for you!’ I remember thinking this to myself. Jeroen, my husband, had just dissed my homemade pie. In front of my recently acquainted in-laws and other family members. It was on Easter, quite a few years ago.

Besides the ‘I’ll never bake you a pie again’, there was some more internal discussion I entertained myself with at the Easter table. Here’s some of the rumbling:

‘Granted, the shape of the pie is all but perfect, it merely resembles an imploded parachute with one side off. The taste is yummy though!’

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Yes, I knew I wanted to go on this trip about intercultural exchange to southern Senegal. I had never been to Senegal or the African continent and felt a curiosity and excitement to have this new experience. I definitely wanted to go.

But boy, it wasn’t easy to make the decision. Some well-outdated inhabitants of my mind tried very hard to keep me where I was. In this article, I share some of my aged beliefs around motherhood, about a need to spend my time and energy usefully and my work ethos. Three self-imposed rules that don’t serve me anymore. Here’s how they showed themselves. And how I broke them.

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