Learn about the concept of happiness in a real and practical way.
Fear is a huge monster that may make you run away from all comfort and life. Learn how to face fears.
Achieving goals occurs when we learn what a smart goal is, how to define it, understand it, and achieve it.
Life confronts us every day with new tests: betrayal, treachery, sadness, depression, and illness. Despite all of that, we can survive every time, just as trees bloom again after their leaves fall every fall.
Men go through a midlife crisis and women go through hormonal changes in many situations. In order to understand the nature of our moods, we need a cup of coffee with ourselves to rediscover our bodies and ourselves.
Despite everything, a person can start over, no matter what happens. Learn the art of talking to yourself.
Just as you need to talk to others, you also need to drink a cup of coffee with yourself, talk to her, and get to know her in a different way… discover what makes her sad and what makes her happy, and learn about the soul’s fears and how to help it develop, achieve, and be happy.
The book Morning Coffee with Oneself is a wonderful practical guide for everyone looking to rediscover themselves, and everyone seeking rest and tranquility.. An important book for young people, married people, students, housewives, business owners, recreation lovers, and those looking for comfort and tranquility.
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My History With Rejection.
Imagine doing something you love, let's say, creative writing, but ever since you've started at 12, you have this voice inside your head that keeps trying to perfect your delivery, your style, your wording, your personality, your soul—almost as though this voice is telling you that your authentic self is too flawed to be heard, admired, or expressed.
Imagine your child self standing in front of your console mirror, challenging yourself to reinvent your entire being so no one would make you feel the way those people did. Imagine seeing your inner walls being built up in front of you and being conscious of the moment.
I mean, humans are amazing. We are shape shifting chameleons, capable of self-actualization; we can become almost anything we want—legends, mythical creatures with wings and all—but, counterintuitively, I buried myself alive and hid him away, somewhere no one could hear him scream. I denied him. I gave my body away as a vessel to some stranger, one with false confidence, different quirks, a lower pitch, more masculinity, and less emotional intelligence. I shapeshifted into this persona that seemed so untouchable, but deep down, I was on the verge of crumbling at the hint of the slightest rejection. A smart, bubbly, sociable person fueled with hidden rage, shame, and darkness.
"If this self is what's causing me to be so unlovable and rejectable, maybe there are other ways to become more lovable, how about trying to earn love? If I can't have it for free, I'll have to earn it." I thought to myself. And from there, I became a perfect best friend, student, man, son, brother, and love interest.
But...did that work, you ask? No. Well, you see, becoming so perfect made them love this monstrous creation of mine, but sometimes bits of my authentic self would leak out of my eyes through tears of acid; it repulsed them to see me for who I truly was, the flaws scared them. Ironically, the chances of being loved became even harder, and I had to deal with the resentment of my own self-betrayal, which ended up with the same seemingly unreasonable ending: denial of the self.
So, the first tactic failed and they ran off, now what? No problem. We still have avoidance! Growing up, I had a crush or two. In 9th grade, I got one of them to be my girlfriend for a month or two, except that I never called her, never hung out with her, never even talked to her. I confessed my love for her and asked her to be my girlfriend, then I met her in the hallways like she was a stranger to me. It confused her. What type of guy asks you to be his girlfriend but then ghosts you?
I never quite got it either, until I figured out that I was only capable of loving her from a distance. I couldn't get close to her, or anyone for that matter, because, in my own reality, if she had gotten to know me, she'd have me figured out. I would accidentally show myself again, and she'd freak out and leave. I couldn't get vulnerable. Vulnerability meant loss, neglect, and nonreciprocal love. I preferred to earn the title of "boyfriend" and to keep my feelings for her inside myself, where she couldn't ruin them. For all I knew, she could take my heart out, bite a piece of it as she clutched it, and throw it on the dirty concrete, soaked and saturated in its own blood.
Second tactic: successful! Years later, I still have no one. I have no close friends and no past partner that I can safely say I was capable of fully loving. Everyone is kept at bay, and I will casually give crumbs of affection here and there when it feels safe.
I spent years thinking I was incapable of love, confused by the memories of how much love I had as a child and how deeply I felt. The truth is, I don't even think I allow myself to love. It's fear I mostly feel. My heart is full of thorns, knives, and barbed wires. And for the first time, I get to blame the ones actually responsible for it instead of myself. I get to be aware of how much hurt they caused me trying to get close to them.
I attempted therapy for years. I read every book, and I saw every YouTube video. But it was you, all along, who were truly hurting others, because you yourselves were hurt. Hurt people hurt people isn't just a saying now, is it? It manifested in the kids I tried to be friends with but only responded with violence because that's all they knew. They responded with belittlement, name-calling, threats, and preying on those who they were once like because they were projecting onto others what they'd experienced, much like my father. A man you'd mistake for someone who served in the military. Harsh, firm, sturdy, and grounded.
A man of his cutting words and fists. He molded us to his likeness, making us constantly guard ourselves against violations by our loved ones instead of seeing them as our primary source of security. My mother told me stories of how his own father treated him. He was probably told to man up and stop being a child, when that's exactly what he was.
I've only seen my father express his love to my mother a few times, maybe once or twice. They slow danced to Bryan Adams and Celine Dione in the living room a couple of times throughout my childhood, but those moments were a rarity. If I wanted to get close, I'd have to do it his way; I'd have to put on my face to impress him and gain his approval, much like I did with everyone else, but with him mainly. He mattered the most. His validation was the ultimate. But he was so critical that even my facade didn't work. I was always met with the most dull, monotonous, soulless words against my excitement and willingness to conversate and get to know him better, like there was no soul behind those eyes. There was no sign of a genuine connection. And so you see, "like father, like son" goes a long way in this context.
We were strangers, and strangers we remained until death did us part.
And for me to break this curse, I must go back to being this child again to reverse the damage. I need to tell him that his love was precious and worthy, that his love was appreciated and a privilege to those who had it. He just gave his love to those who were too broken to understand, too dysfunctional to protect it, and too far gone.
It was never on him, but them. As a child, he viewed the world through himself, but as an adult, he will see the bigger picture, he will know that humans don’t always respond based on others’ actions, but also based on their personal turmoil. Humans project, they ruin, they seek and destroy whatever triggers their pain. He was just in the way.
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