Another thing you don't know about me, queerly dearest
My mother always wanted me to be a famous actor. "Just like Judy Dench," she used to say. At a young age, I did want to act for a living, mostly because I knew I was good at it, but I also knew what my mother wanted me to be—famous. That's why it felt like there wasn't any choice.
The last time I saw my mother, she told me I had wasted my life. "I followed the child's dreams," she told my partner, as if I wasn't in the room. "I encouraged Star, bought Star acting lessons, invested in Star, supported Star, did everything the ideal parent does. But did Star fulfill those dreams? No. Well, that's not my fault."
It's easy to let the punishing voices of our parents and/or caregivers punish us, continuing inside us like a never-ending radio. But as I said yesterday to a loved one, "The punishing voice is never, ever right."
I tell myself, "It's that simple."
When you get that voice inside your head, queerly dear—the punishing voice, whereever it comes from—it is wrong. I find it helps to replace that punishing voice with my own good voice: "You chose to live your life differently and authentically. That, Star Williams, is a tremendous success."
Is the voice punishing? If yes, then we need to replace that voice with another. The punisher is wrong, queerly dear. And when we can see that, we are right.
Love yourself, queerly dear,
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