Hi there.

Look, I have a birthmark on the top of my head.

Look, I have a birthmark on the top of my head.

Welcome to Nerve 10.

I’m Jordan, and I created this site because I couldn’t find mental health information on the Internet that I could relate to.

Nerve 10 is where you will find the most accessible, most meaningful mental health stories and poetry on the world wide web.

My goal is not to regurgitate technical terms and generic information—it’s to create a more realistic and helpful mental health narrative.

No talks to me the way I talk to myself

No talks to me the way I talk to myself

Man looking out window thinking to himself

When I was a kid, I got pulled out of soccer games a lot.

It wasn’t because I wasn’t good enough.

It was because of the way I talked to myself when things went wrong.

If I missed scoring a goal, I would get really mad at myself.

And the negative self-talk would begin.

“Why do I always do that? I can’t believe it. That was so bad. I’m terrible.”

I didn’t have the self-awareness when I was a little kid playing soccer, but when I got older, my parents told me that the abrupt change in my body language was apparent.

It was blatantly obvious when I started to fixate on my failures.

My shoulders slumped. I muttered to myself. It was clear that my head was no longer in the game. So my coach would pull me out.

What’s interesting is that the negative self-talk was worse if I barely missed the goal than if I missed it by a mile.

Because I was searching for perfection.

And the near-miss crushed me.

Now I know that perfectionism is a self-inflicted wound. It never leads anywhere good.

But sometimes I still look for it.

When I was younger, I thought perfectionism is what I should strive for. I thought it would make me happy. I thought that by doing things the right way, all of the time, I could control my life.

More importantly, I thought I could control what people thought of me. I thought that my parents being happy with me would mean that I was happy with me.

I thought good feelings were objects that could be presented to me in recognition of my good deeds — like they were something that could be purchased at the store.

Now I know the truth is not so simple.

Good feelings — the kind of feelings that are enriching and enduring — can only come from within. These feelings are harder to create, but they are moreworthwhile and meaningful.

The truth is, even though I know that only I am responsible for my life and happiness, I still talk to myself with words that would appall me if I used them on someone else.

I’m still my harshest critic.

And I don’t know why.

I’m a nice person. I care about people. I’m pursuing a career of service — of selflessness, of empathizing with all my heart.

Yet, there is a shred of my soul that feels it is not worthy — that I am animpostor living a life I do not belong to.

I have come a long way. I know how to cope with the self-imposed mental torment in ways I was not privy to when I was a child.

I’ve learned the hard way that how I talk to myself is not who I am, nor is it someone I would ever wish to be.

The way I talk to myself is fiction, but I find fiction tends to be more powerful than reality. The lies that I tell myself, the rebukes and reprimands — all for what?

More and more, I talk to honor myself. I allow myself the space to accept how far I’ve come. Years ago, I wouldn’t have given myself any credit in my journey. It would have been a mistake.

Now, I’m seeing the power in my words, in my story of how to make a life.

Most days I talk to myself as a friend.

One day, I will talk to myself as a brother who, after being gone for so long, is now welcome home.

Frustrated with you? I'm frustrated with myself.

Frustrated with you? I'm frustrated with myself.

My love/hate relationship with empathy and strong emotions

My love/hate relationship with empathy and strong emotions

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