Transform Victimhood into Empowerment
The following is adapted from Flawed and (Still) Worthy by Allie Brazas.
When I was seven, my family took a week-long summer vacation to California. We periodically ventured out to popular tourist attractions and dinner joints, but agreed to spend most of our time by the ocean. As I remember it, every day the sun shone, the water was warm, and our faces fried. My brother Luke loved diving headfirst into the waves over and over again, boogie board in hand, wearing solid blue swim trunks and an infectious smile, while I preferred to park it on the sand. Sandwiched safely between my parents’ beach chairs, I spent whole afternoons molding the sparkly sand and daydreaming about the kind of fairytale life I would someday have for myself.
My sand art would change, but the story always stayed the same. A circular mound was my castle. My white sand rake made the perfect picket fence. The dirty blue sand bucket was my husband. I was the red sand scoop. Together we stood watch over a brood of multicolored seashell children. When everything was hard-packed and placed just so, I’d pronounce my empire complete. My version of the future looked so quintessential and grand laid out in the sand. The idea that things could turn out any other way never even crossed my radar.
But just like the old proverb says: hindsight is 20/20.
By ten, I’d learned a thing or two about fairytales. They are not, for example, immune to competition. I may still have been in the daydreaming stage, but comparisons were starting to emerge — good, better, best — as I first sized myself up next to those closest to me (my parents, my brother), followed by those who had what I wanted (my peers). It would spur me to do, be, and strive for more, until finally there’d be just one opponent left to beat: the one staring back at me in the mirror.
When you look at yourself in the mirror, what do you see? Someone standing tall and confident, proud of all the shit she’s been through and overcome? Or does your head hang low, your shoulders stooped beneath the shame of where you’ve been and discouragement at how far you still have to go?
The answer to that question will determine if you should keep reading.
My Own Worst Critic
When I begrudgingly looked in the mirror — at ten, at twelve, at eighteen, at twenty-five — I consistently found an exceptionally flawed reflection staring back at me. Exhaustion from the horrific trauma I had endured and the pain I had survived left scars that made my sand-molded future seem far out of reach. The sandcastle family and all the dreams that went with it began slowly drifting away with the tide. Haunted by the remnants of my past, I no longer felt worthy of a future so dreamy, so perfect.
I was always my own worst critic, constantly competing against myself. I habitually held myself to impossible standards, and when I tried but failed to meet them, I never praised my efforts. There were no, “Atta-boys.” No, “You’ll do better next time.” I didn’t acknowledge my hard work in the mirror because all I saw was a defective little girl, slumped over and disgraced.
At seven, I didn’t think my fairytale future was a huge stretch. A spouse, a house, some kids — I mean, let’s be real: most humans desire those things. But after I’d done everything in the wrong order (pregnant before marriage; a missed deployment that subsequently tarnished my career), it made a sick kind of sense that my husband would perish and my entire world would be threatened by a man who used and abused his high-ranking power. My life no longer looked like my family’s lives, or my friends’ lives, or even the lives of the strangers who lived next door. My life looked discombobulated and completely out of control, and it was all I could do to try and keep up with the Joneses.
That’s what we as women do to ourselves: exacerbate life’s already hard times by comparing ourselves to others, placing ourselves in a competition that neither participant wants to be in. I’m not saying it’s entirely our fault — the societal standards we’re held to definitely play a role — but ladies, WE are in control of how we respond to those expectations. Women are expected to smile, be polite, brush our hair, not get fat, not get too thin, not be too boisterous, not be too shy, and the list goes on and on. If you don’t fit the perfect mold, you’re “unworthy” in the eyes of others. You know what I say? FUCK THAT! Absolutely NONE of that matters unless you give in to those ridiculously impossible standards — and most damning of all, see yourself as unworthy, like I once did.
Whatever your demon, it’s likely a perceived lack: of prettiness, money, education, love, fairness, or a million other ghosts. The pain from all you are “lacking” consumes you and before you know it, you’re the shame-faced reflection staring back at you, wondering when shit will begin to turn around for you. Well, ladies: that moment is now. NOW is when we turn all that you’re “lacking” into strengths you didn’t know you had.
You can learn more about transforming victimhood into empowerment in Flawed and (Still) Worthy on Amazon.
ALLIE BRAZAS is the COO of Pinnacle Peak Recovery, a drug and alcohol treatment center in Scottsdale, Arizona. During her days as a Sailor, Allie co-founded the Women’s Symposium, an empowering event for active duty females in the area. Allie is an avid runner, hiker, and Fit Body Boot Camp devotee (it’s her second home). She’s married with a daughter, and like everything in her life, Allie “moms hard.” When she’s not working, you’ll find Allie screaming from the stands at her daughter’s softball games.
