10/01/2012 12:38 am ET Updated Nov 30, 2012

Something Is Wrong With Me

When I was in college, I went off to the mountains for a weekend of hiking with an older, wiser
friend of 22. At one point, my friend described how she was learning to be "her own
best friend." A huge wave of sadness came over me, and I broke down sobbing -- I was the
farthest thing from my own best friend.

I was continually harassed by an inner judge who was merciless, relentless, nit-picking, driving,
often invisible but always on the job. I knew I would never treat a friend the way I treated
myself, without mercy or kindness. My guiding assumption was, "Something is fundamentally
wrong with me," and I struggled to control and fix what felt like a basically flawed self.

Feeling not okay went hand-in-hand with deep loneliness. In my early teens I sometimes
imagined that I was living inside a transparent orb that separated me from the people and life
around me. When I felt good about myself and at ease with others, the bubble thinned until it
was like an invisible wisp of gas. When I felt bad about myself, the walls got so thick it seemed
others must be able to see them.

With my college friend, it was different -- I trusted her enough to be completely open. Over
the next two days of hiking I began to realize that beneath all my mood swings, depression,
loneliness and addictive behavior lurked that feeling of deep personal deficiency. I was getting
my first clear glimpse into a core of suffering that I would re-visit again and again in my life.
While I felt exposed and raw, I intuitively knew that by facing this pain I was entering a path of

When some years later these longings drew me to the Buddhist path, I found there the teachings and practices that enabled me to directly face my feelings of unworthiness and insecurity. They gave me a way of seeing clearly what I was experiencing, and showed me how to relate to my life with compassion. The teachings of the Buddha also helped undo my painful and mistaken notion that I was alone in my suffering, that it was a personal problem and somehow my fault.

Over the past 20 years, as a psychologist and Buddhist teacher, I've worked with thousands
of clients and students who have revealed how painfully burdened they feel by a sense of not
being good enough.

It doesn't take much -- just hearing of someone else's accomplishments, being criticized, getting into an argument, making a mistake at work -- to make us feel that we are not okay. When we experience our lives through this lens of personal insufficiency, we are imprisoned in what I call the "trance of unworthiness." Trapped in this trance, we are unable to perceive the truth of who we really are.

Because our habits of feeling insufficient are so strong, awakening from the trance involves not
only inner resolve, but an active training of the heart and mind. Through Buddhist awareness
practices, we free ourselves from the suffering of trance by learning to recognize what is true in
the present moment, and by embracing whatever we see with an open heart. This cultivation of
mindfulness and compassion is what I call "Radical Acceptance."

Radical Acceptance reverses our habit of living at war with experiences that are unfamiliar,
frightening or intense. It is the necessary antidote to years of neglecting ourselves, years of
judging and treating ourselves harshly, years of rejecting this moment's experience. Radical
Acceptance is the willingness to experience ourselves and our life as it is. A moment of Radical
Acceptance is a moment of genuine freedom.

When we practice Radical Acceptance, we begin with the fears and wounds of our own life and
discover that our heart of compassion widens endlessly. In holding ourselves with compassion,
we become free to love this living world. This is the blessing of Radical Acceptance: As we free
ourselves from the suffering of "something is wrong with me," we trust and express the fullness
of who we are.

Here is a podcast on a talk I gave on: Behind the Mask

Adapted from
Radical Acceptance (2003)

For more by Tara Brach, click here.

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