Why goal-setting makes me lost

Goals & achievements are minefields for me. I have to be extremely sensitive and careful about what ‘orders’ I give myself, which means not giving myself orders at all. It took me a long while to accept that the generic advices and guidelines doled out by self-help gurus suppress me and in particularly the vitality in me.

I didn’t understand why but I started by respecting my emotions and not seeing myself as an inherently lazy creature who needs strong arming and moving away from whatever contributed to depression and despair. Turns out, I had to throw
everything out of the window. I was like a mother whose child was allergic TO EVERYTHING and was breaking out in hives and suffering from a disease no doctor could ascertain so she had to experiment, be vigilant, research, and never stop trying. I had to not only reparent myself
but reeducate and resocialize. I had to tear everything down and start from scratch using my mental ailments as guidance to know where to search and what to look for.

But even so, this conditioning was genetical. I was up against millenia of hardwiring. Everything I was doing was counterintuitive and flew in the face of survival. Each day I’d have at least a moment of thinking WHAT THE FUCK AM I DOOOIN?? But, it brought results, unexpected af and it gave me relief insofar as I didn’t want to off myself. My psyche was finally responding even though I didn’t know why. It wasn’t important to know why, only that it worked. I was doing that for 7 years straight. 7 gruelling, scary, existentially debilitating years. But paradoxically the most fulfilling ones too!

It wasn’t until my grandma passed, may Allaah have mercy on her, in Sept
that I started going back to see the work I had laid in those 7 years and why they worked. It was the most triggering and depressing period bc the trauma was still there. I had just worked on responding differently but I wasn’t prepared for the deluge that was released. I was in
a liminal abyss. Reality didn’t have dimensions or ground other than the present moment which felt too many sizes too big and too small at the same time. It was especially tempting to go back on everything I had done and just do things conventionally. The dying programming was trying to gaslight me into thinking the uncertainty was because I was clueless and lazy and that I should just do what I had chosen not to for all these years. But my heart wasn’t with it. I had developed a militant discernment where nothing bypasses me in what tries to impress itself upon me.

I was battling with shame for my inactivity (when it was me waiting to see what emerged). I became acquainted with the nature of the present moment. The ontological nature of it. And now it came to me that what I had been doing was increasing my psychic stamina and tolerance
of the present moment. That matters more to me than to use goals as blinkers in order to filter things out. There’s some ancient psychic technology that requires that I’m capable of staying grounded no matter and because it’s so sensitive, I have to tie down my mind from interfering compulsively and digressing when I really need it to be a receptacle for these incoming signals. These signals reconnect me to the present moment that is deep in me and it makes accessible the joy and passion I had lost sense and sight for. To be fuelled by that instead of lack. To be driven by deep inspiration instead of strategies to fight upstream.

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