domingo, 29 de agosto de 2010
miércoles, 4 de agosto de 2010
domingo, 1 de agosto de 2010
I am me.
In all the world, there is no one exactly like me.
There are persons who have some parts like me,
but no one adds up exactly like me.
Therefore, everything that comes out of me
is authentically mine because I alone choose it.
I own everything about me
my body including everything it does;
my mind including all its thoughts and ideas;
my eyes including the images all they behold;
my feelings whatever they may be ...
anger, joy, frustration, love, disappointment, excitement
my mouth and all the words that come out it
polite, sweet or rough,
correct or incorrect;
my voice loud or soft.
And all my actions, whether they be to others or to myself.
I own my fantasies, my dreams, my hopes, my fears.
I own all my triumphs and successes,
all my failures and mistakes.
Because I own all of me I can become intimately acquainted with me.
By doing so I can love me and be friendly with me in all parts.
I can then make it possible for all of me to work in my best interests.
I know there are aspects about myself that puzzle me,
and other aspects that I do not know.
But as long as I am friendly and loving to myself,
I can courageously and hopefully, look for solutions to the puzzles
and for ways to find out more about me.
However I look and sound, whatever I say and do, and whatever I think
and feel at a given moment in time is me.
This is authentic and represents where I am in that moment in time.
When I review later how I looked and sounded, what I said and did, and how I
thought and felt, some parts may turn out to be unfitting.
I can discard that which is unfitting, and keep that which proved fitting,
And invent something new for that which I discarded.
I can see, hear, feel, think, say and do.
I have the tools to survive, to be close to others, to be productive,
and to make sense and order out of the world of people
and things outside of me.
I own me, and therefore I can engineer me.
I am me and I am ok.
The poem insightfully strikes a chord in all of us because doubts about our self-acceptance and self-esteem is something we all struggle with many times during our life.
Virginia Satir was a noted psychotherapist, known for her approach to family therapy. She wrote this poem when she was working with an angry fifteen-year-old girl who had a lot of questions about herself and what life meant.