On a cold, gray day in March 1983, I left my last class of the afternoon at Santa Monica Community College, the academic community in which I had taken refuge, where I sought validation and redemption. But, above me, a cloud formed, gray, cold, dark, shaped like a fist, clenched for attack, its knuckles terrifying me to my core.
Why did it terrify me, you might ask? It was just a spring cloud drifting in from the Pacific, the peaceful ocean, and nothing to worry about. But it shook me to my core with a series of unexpected, irregular movements, punching left and right, like a boxer delivering body blows and destroying an opponent from the inside out. In my gut, a groundswell wave churned as I ran to my car, my paralyzed left leg dragging along.
In my mind, my inner critic shouted, “What are you doing in college? You’ll never graduate. You’ll never make it. Stupid is what you are, remember? Just like all the doctors, teachers, and therapists confirmed with their perturbed grunts and distorted faces, when they examined you. They sent you to a sheltered workshop, too, instead of on to higher education. They didn’t want to admit that you needed accommodation, not rejection, and that you could learn. Instead, it was easier for them to label you a retard, instead of admitting IQ tests can’t measure anything for someone with dyslexia.”
The voice drowned out every positive affirmation in which I had encapsulated myself. “Stop, please stop,” I told myself over and over. “I’m all right, and I’ll get through this. I’m safe here.”
But the critic kept roaring until I quieted its voice by writing out my feelings and accepting everything that had happened to me. Through love and unconditional acceptance of myself, and yes, even acceptance of my inner critic, I healed.
If I can heal, you can, too.
Must It Be?
Looking out into
The gray-fisted sky,
Its chalky waves
Slowly moving toward me,
With its own
Silent force!
Its song sang
Out droning notes
Frightening me!
I looked up
And the smoky canopy
Shouted down at me
With a red blazing hue,
Filling the horizon!
“Must it be?”
I turned quickly
To ignore those lyrics
But still, they kept haunting me!
Original text ©2024 by Karen Lynn-Chlup. All rights reserved. Image by
This poem was written in 2002.
