I remind myself not to internalize it when my efforts disappoint me. I observe my visceral reaction being one of a trapped animal gnawing at itself out of frustration, all because I’ve never seen anyone say it’s ok to channel the frustration through acceptance. Only that it’s unacceptable and the outcome is a direct reflection of who I am. You must have done something wrong. If only you were more careful, if only you hadn’t done this or that..
I feel it start up like a rusty wheel. It’s tempting to let it all turn it inwards, as if it’s an itch I want to scratch. Clawing at myself. And for what you may ask? I was doing laundry and the communal laundromat shuts down in 40 minutes. And I ambitiously thought I could throw in a couple of hallway runners and have them washed and dried in 80 minutes. Didn’t pan out that way. Had to take out clothes that weren’t yet dried to hang the runners to dry.
All of a sudden, the familiar tape of self-hate kicks in. It’s quite versatile because it kicks in at the drop of a hat. It’s like I’m forever sitting there in anticipation for my fuckup, with my finger hovering over the play button, as if I were a lion lying down in the tall grass waiting for blissfully unaware prey to come close enough to attack.
Never mind that I’ve been up and down doing the entire family’s week long laundry since 4 pm. It’s nearly 9 now.
I’m grateful that after all these years, I’m able to watch myself and stop myself. I’m able to know that this isn’t what Allaah wants for me. I send silent prayers as I watch the last minutes spin and spin around into the runners that are still washing. Bracing myself for impact.
An emotional sweatshop. But who..oh. Of course. Of course that’s who this benefits. The self-hate and despair and self-destruction. Of course. Iblees, you smart. Good one. But can’t outwit Allaah can you?