Quotes About Inadequacy

ULCERS are no more than fear — tremendous fear of "not being good enough." We fear not being good enough for a parent, we fear not being good enough for a boss. We can't stomach who we are. We rip our guts apart trying to please others. No matter how important our job is, our inner self-esteem is very low. We are afraid they will find out about us.

Peter Marin condemns the "inadequacy" of our psychological terminology in describing the magnitude and reality of the "pain of human conscience." As a society, he says, we seem unable to deal with moral pain or guilt.

She only knew that they intimidated her, with their savage candor and their awful neediness, which invariably left her feeling inadequate and helpless.

sometimes words are not big enough to contain all the feelings you are trying to pour into them. My

This time I don't bother with words; the ones we need don't exist in the English language. Even the syllable grief feels like a cliff, and we've fallen.

Unfortunately, accomplishments do not reduce internalized shame. In fact, the more one achieves, the more one has to achieve. Toxic shame is about being; no amount of doing will ever change it.

Shame is the affect which is the source of many complex and disturbing inner states: depression, alienation, self doubt, isolating loneliness, paranoid and schizoid phenomena, compulsive disorders, splitting of the self, perfectionism, a deep sense of inferiority, inadequacy or failure, the so-called borderline conditions and disorders of narcissism.

She grieves because her grief is not an acute grief, and when I tell her that this sorrow over the inadequacies of her sorrow may be a new hue in the spectrum of human pain, she is not consoled.

So, creatively, I was doubly blessed: constant relocation and parental disharmony. Add to these two gifts the well-established fact that many of the world's greatest geniuses, both artistic and scientific, have been the product of serious maternal deprivation, and I am forced to the conclusion that if only my mother had been just a little more emotionally inadequate, I could have been HUGE.

Sometimes no matter how hard you try to be enough for someone, if that someone doesn't feel contented having you, then they will still make you feel WORTHLESS.

Being replaced is one of the worst feelings. It's like no matter what you did, it just wasn't enough.

I quit, I give up, nothing's good enough for anybody else, it see... when I'm all alone it's best way to be. When I'm by myself nobody else can say good-bye. Everything is temporary anyway.

His is the same fear most everyone has, everyone for me for the fact that I cannot.

I was dying. And I had never been enough for anything.

The fulfillment of every desire only reveals its inadequacy.

I was real good at music and real bad at everything else.

If you saw me trying to do laundry or something, well, I'm not really equipped to do anything else.

I do feel a lot of times like I'm out of my league with my kids in terms of what my responsibility is.

I'm a failure! Garbage! You just never stop to think.

It's like having a head full of holes, in which the perfect repository of words have shamed themselves, he lamented.

But she missed simple things, parents' birthdays, a rug underfoot, nights when she didn't have to sleep in a zipped bag. She began to think she was inadequate to the strict plain shapes of churchly faith. Head pains hit her at the end of the day. They came with a shining, an electrochemical sheen, light from out of nowhere, brain-made, the eerie gleam of who you are.

We have our self-importance. We also have our inadequacy. The former is a desperate invention of the latter.

I began to realize, with some little horror, that she was nothing more than a lowbrow, pop-psychology version of Sylvia Plath. It lasted forever, like some weepy and endless made-for-TV movie—all the clinging, all the complaints, all the parking-lot confessions of "inadequacy" and "poor self-image," all those banal sorrows.

He wore a blazer, or more accurately, three XL blazers sewn together. I could fit my whole body into one of his pant legs. My tiny thirty-two caliber Seecamp in my boot heel wouldn't do shit to this man. If I shot him, the bullets would wet themselves and run away, crying. I