Your Honor

         I had a dream last night in which, for some reason, I was put in charge of judging and approving of things that people made. Vague, I know, a miscellaneous competition? It wasn’t clear. They were lined up, breezing past me, I was nodding in approval of whatever their production. Then suddenly, a faceless body was coming toward me with something that I LOVED that was also familiar. I couldn’t place it, but it was amazing. As they proceeded past me, I paused stumped by where I had seen that before… Cue the wake up. As I came to and got out of bed for my middle-of-the-night pee, I realized that what I had seen was my own work, one of my paintings.

          Naturally, the intricate details of the dream slipped from my mind immediately, but I held on to the message. It’s easy for me to nonchalantly approve of what everyone else is doing and even get excited for their brilliant work. In this case, I was excitedly approving of my own brilliant work when I thought it was someone else’s, after criticizing it in the past. Mind-fuckie, right? My thoughts to follow, as I sat on the toilet, eyes closed, trying to quickly pee, so I could go back to bed: Your Honor; We are our own judge, jury, and executioner punishing ourselves in the harshest of ways.

          I doubt myself in every move I make, everything I create, every word I say. And why is that? Because if everything I did were coming out of someone else, I would think they’re amazing. As I type this in the comfort of my home, I can’t help but acknowledge the beautiful space I’ve cultivated providing me the ideal opportunity to do exactly this. Every single thing around me materialized from the thoughts and ideas I had as a young girl. Essentially, everything I’ve touched has turned into my own personal gold. While I am very fortunate, I also have to give myself credit for the hard work and talent I’ve put in to earn this.

          Bit by bit, my introspection is teaching me to lighten the fuck up. I spend my days cheerleading for everyone else, like the annoying little barbie girl that I embrace being, while simultaneously cutting myself down. Taking it back to basics, which of these things does not belong? My shitty inner self talk needs a power shift. It’ll take some practice, but moving forward, I’m going to address myself as ‘Your Honor’ when the negative thoughts begin to brew. Instead of focusing on the judgement and doubt, I’m going to focus on the person dishing it. I owe her the most respect.

          It’s a gloomy morning. I’m curled up on the couch writing with a sleeping dog on one side of me and a cup of coffee on the other. It’s quiet, I’m wrapped in my favorite flannel, and the smoke of black opium incense is filling the apartment. Life thrives in the little things. The only thing that could make this better would be for these words to bring a little comfort and solace to anyone who can relate. The court proposes a social experiment: Join me in addressing yourself as ‘Your Honor’ when you’re about to start talking shit to yourself and let me know how it goes.

          LOVE YOU.