Seething inside me is a dark image. A picture of myself that I'd like to change. Part of my journey into Stoicism is about how to gain a more balanced interior world. That begins with taking a step back to acknowledging how I got here.

For me, much of it boils own to the simple idea that I grew up with, reinforced by countless teachers, people all around me, and our culture's preoccupation with "perfect girls." The basic concept: "You should act smart because you are smart.” And more than that: "Be perfect."

This approach implies that being/acting intelligent and competent defines your self-worth. Supporting this line of thinking, the next logical step is to believe that the highest grades, scholastic achievement, degrees, and prestigious careers are marks of your worthiness as a human being. Praise is what matters, and getting something wrong is shameful.
 
For me, this kind of mentality led to a trap of constant self-doubt about and negativity around my own sense of value, wholeness, and, ultimately, happiness. For years, I’d often tell myself how “stupid” or “idiotic” I was for making what I perceived to be a "dumb" mistake. I’d even say “I am worthless" or "I hate myself.”
 
I internalized the idea that I had to be perfect, that I couldn’t make a simple error without demonstrating that, in reality, I wasn’t smart or valuable, but in fact, I was incompetent and a failure.
 
Why did I persist in believing this in the face of so much evidence that I was indeed, in most people's eyes, a capable, intelligent, and strong individual?
 
I have a theory. Over the years, I used this thinking as a protective shield in some twisted way. In 12-step programs, people look at how their addiction “served” served them in a sense. Perhaps that has been true here too. If I could preventatively say, “What an idiot I am!” then I knew deep down I would feel it less when someone else said it (or when I thought someone might say it under their breath). I’d be somehow immune when other people pointed out my flaws or shortcomings. My horrible self-talk formed a series of pre-emptive strikes.
 
I’d also force myself to work harder that way: “If I’m not prepared for this test, the teacher will think I’m a dunderhead, I’ll get a bad grade, and I’ll never be successful.” “If I don’t ace this interview, I must be truly incompetent, and I won't really deserve a good job. What a failure I am.” And so on.
 
Weird and absurd, right? Yet that’s how messed up I’ve been on the inside. That’s the kind of treatment of my own psyche that I used to propel myself forward through very competitive schools and tough work environments.
 
It has also taken a tremendous toll.
 
I have had a Dorian Gray-like picture of myself hidden away inside me, eating away at everything good.

You likely recall the Oscar Wilde story: a handsome young man hides away a painting of himself, one that ages and decays and sours and becomes monstrous as he commits bad acts. Meanwhile, his real body remains beautiful (on the outside).

My self-portrait carries the marks of emotional wounds, often self-inflicted, but dangerous nonetheless.
 
The acid effect of internal damage finally became too great when I found myself trying to drive my own children using the same mentality. Of course, I want them to know I have high expectations because they can live up to them and be their best selves. But I don’t want to plant a Dorian within their young, vulnerable hearts.
 
That is why I began, a couple years back, to work on my negativity and lack of self-compassion. I took classes on meditation and on mindfulness, I studied compassion and Buddhism, I met with counselors, I did self-assessments of who I am and how I got here, and where to go next to get over this mentality and be healthier.
 
I learned to care about my own suffering more. The very first step was to actually notice it, to be aware of how I talked to myself. I began slowly to try to focus on satisfying moments rather than fears.

This is a work in progress that still needs a lot of effort. But at least now I can break down why I feel this way in a more granular understanding.
 
Among all these efforts, my studies of Stoicism and of recovery from addictive behavior have had the most lasting and helpful effect. I am trying now to give my darker thoughts up to the universe and to the force for good instilled in humanity, that “divine spark” that Marcus Aurelius and others refer to.

​I have to remember to protect my own spark. Even from myself.
 
 A quote to meditate on:
 
“The duration of a person’s life is as a point; the substance of it ever flowing, the sense obscure; and the whole composition of the body tending to unravel. Her soul is a restless vortex, fortune uncertain, and fame doubtful; in a word, as a rushing stream so are all things belonging to the body; as a dream, or as smoke, so are all that belong to the soul. Life is a warfare, and a sojourn in a foreign land. Fame after life is nothing more than oblivion.
 
What is it then that will guide us? One thing alone: philosophy. And philosophy consists in this, for a woman to preserve that inner genius or divine spark which is within her, from violence and injuries, and above all pains or pleasures; never to do anything either without purpose, or falsely, or hypocritically: wholly to depend from herself and her own proper actions: all things that happen to her to embrace contentedly, as coming from the Eternal from whom she also came...”
 
A woman-centric version of Marcus Aurelius, from the Meditations, Book II, Section 15

​With so much violence and death in the news recently—both human-made and nature-made—it’s hard to comprehend so much suffering.
 
I sometimes wonder if there is a threshold to witnessing so many things that are out of control—and out of OUR control, as the Stoic thinkers have shown us. Perhaps there is a point beyond which we just break down and turn away. (If that is true, the ancients must have experienced it, given the scale of war and disease at that time.)
 
After I heard about the mass shooting in Las Vegas that claimed 59 lives, my sense of despair and disconnection went into overdrive. The unthinkable cruelty hurt me on a personal level. I went through the motions of my day, trying not to discuss the horror with my kids. I didn’t want them to see my alienation and sadness. And I did not know how to explain what had happened.
 
We are seeing these kinds of staggering acts monthly, weekly, and daily if you look at violence on the local level around the country. It makes me ask: What values do we share in common as Americans—as human beings? How can we live “in accordance with nature” in our modern world? So many people seem to have forgotten what it means to tap into the logic of our brains and the spark of virtue, kindness, and joy within.
 
Human life is much more than an instinct to survive. Nor is it just material comfort or a set of serial goals, like “graduate from school," “get a job,” "get married," and “buy a house."  There’s a deeper spiritual element. To feel connected, valuable, and good, the Stoics tell us, we must try to live a virtuous life, in harmony with the best elements of our natures.
 
Maybe by attempting to live a good life—a caring and thoughtful existence supporting those around us—we can somehow serve as a bulwark against acts of violence and terror. At the very least, we can continue to promote and protect the core virtues that make our lives meaningful while we are on this planet. Stoicism means living far from despair even in the worst circumstances, and I try to keep that thought in the forefront of my mind.