Inner Voice

I can be wearing an outfit I have worn a dozen times before, spend hours getting ready and have a room full of people telling me I look beautiful.  I can’t hear that.

All I hear are my thighs touching, the dark circles under my eyes, my long face and this messy hair because who has time for that; and on and on it goes.  My inner voice.

After a long day and a successful completion of a project, the boss can say loud and clear “Great Job.”  I can’t hear that.

All I hear is the shuffle of my uncertain feet, and the sweat dripping don’t my spine from nerves.  I hear that I should have finished sooner, or done better.  My inner voice.

My son can run in the house and give me the brightest side-eye-grin you’ve ever seen, telling me how much he loves me as he hugs me.   I can’t hear that.

All I can hear is that I should have been the one to pick him up, and I should have been more patient this morning, given him a better hug.  Maybe not so tight?  My inner voice.

I can’t hear what the world is saying because the voice inside my head is the loudest sound in the entire universe.  My inner voice.

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