So I’ve decided to be my own cheerleader. I’m gonna pick up my pom poms and cheer me on! I’d like to be cheered by others but . . . not necessary. I know what I’m about. What my intentions are in everything I do. I don’t need accolades and big-ups. It’d be nice though, can’t lie about that. But it’s all good.
I’m going to run out onto the field of my own life and jump and kick and celebrate me! I have to. Everyone else is too busy celebrating themselves or celebrities or sporting events or family members. So I figure I’ll high-five me! Why not? I’m the only one who knows what I REALLY want. How much stroking I need. How many back pats make me feel good. I mean, lots of stroking and ego patting WOULD be really, really nice, but I’ll just give it to myself. No one else is gonna do it for me, at least not regularly. I’ll have to be the one.
I’m sorta good at encouraging others and speaking life into folks, but when it comes to myself, that’s a hard one. The pep talks I give me are often times sad and pathetic. They’re more like mini critiques instead of a loud and lively high school pep rally. I’m tough on myself. Nothing I do is really good enough to me. I’m my worst critic. Sometimes I just want to give up, toss in the towel, and dive back under my covers. I can’t help but wonder obsessively what the heck I’m doing. Is this what I’m even supposed to be doing? I convince myself that no one is paying attention. No one is benefiting from my efforts. No one cares about my passion or my work or my love of this thing, except me.
Then out of the blue I’ll get a cheer from my small booster section of family and friends. I get a few moments of ego stroking and back patting that fuels me temporarily. I feel psyched. I feel energized. I feel as if I’m on FIRE. I’m like, REALLY? You REALLY liked that? I touched you like THAT? Feels good. I mean REALLY good. DAGGONE good. Not good because they loved what I did, but because they were touched. They were helped. They were moved. They saw they are not alone.
Then my small booster section goes silent. Sometimes for a long time. I’m not sure anyone is paying attention anymore. I hear no feedback. I get no wows. Then doubt creeps in once again. Should I stop what I’m doing? What I KNOW I should be doing? Or should I block out the crickets and keep on keeping on?
So, I do my stretches. I limber up. I jump high and perform multiple cartwheels. I increase my heart rate and ramp up my endorphins to dizzying heights. I get high off of me, all by myself. I yell and scream at the top of my lungs (in my head of course) “GIMME A M! GIMME A E! GIMME A E! WHAT DOES IT SPELL? MEE!” I have to. My small cheering section has other things to do instead of following me around.
But sometimes I don’t listen to my cheers. Sometimes I roll my eyes at myself as doubts creep in and squashes my high. Then I remind myself that He sees. He knows. He put the spark in me. I can’t not go on. I can’t diss Him. I can’t. More than disappointing myself, I don’t want to disappoint Him. I have to try. I have to keep it moving. I have to shake my pom poms, do a couple of splits, and cheer really, really loudly for myself. I can’t depend on my booster club or family or kids or teachers or parents or friends or social media likes to stroke me. I have to bolster me. I have to be my own cheerleader. Me and God.
