being a victim of your creation

Some of my writings go unpublished.  Some I send to my friends, some I send to my mom.

I worry about whether or not I will be liked or abandoned because of something I wrote.  I'm afraid of reading a response that isn't kind or sensitive.

I find value in processing through writing though, and also value in sharing out loud.  I find my mind quiets down.  I get grounded in my body.

These last couple of days I've been surprised.  I realized how beautiful and full of clarity my mind can be one moment, and then a cesspool of unhappy thoughts the next.  I'm grasping at something in my mind right now, a moment of clarity I had recently.  This was about taking responsibility, and the relief that action brings.  About acknowledging that the current place you are is a result of what you've created.  The oft forgotten truth about that is though while it hurts to acknowledge this, you're also, usually unknowingly, acknowledging your ability to recreate your life the way you want it to look.
Oddly enough when shifting from victim to creator, the little things that might have annoyed you, may suddenly seem kind of cute and amusing.  This is a normal side effect.

Scenario 1:

Guy: God, I fucking hate my job.  They don't treat me how I aught to be treated and they should give me a raise.
Guy owning his shit:  Oh.  I created this by giving them my resume and filling out an application.
Guy doing something differently:  I guess I'll start looking for something different.  I'll keep this job and save my money instead of buying beers at the bar so that I can have some breathing room in case I don't find a new job immediately.

Scenario 2:

Girl: God, my boyfriend is such a dick, he treats me like shit, and never takes me out on nice dates.
Girl taking responsibility: I guess I chose this relationship with this guy who isn't nice or kind to me by continually calling him, fucking him, spending time with him.
Girl doing something differently:  Hey boyfriend, will you plan and take me out in a rowboat and will you pack us a picnic basket?  Oh, you won't?  And you think I'm a bitch for asking?  I am breaking up with you.  I now have more room for something and/or someone different to spend my time, my sex, and my energy with.


Now, I acknowledge that these are two very simple scenarios, and I chose to make them that way for a variety of reasons.  They leave out the uncomfortable sensations that arise when going through these life exeriences, which occur over time, much unlike a 2 hour movie.  Don't like my simple scenarios?  I invite you to share your scenario. I would love to hear it!