This month has been a struggle between knowing what I know about myself now, and being who I am now, or falling back into my former restrictive, withdrawn, small, insecure about damn near everything, especially 1. How I move through the world and 2. My relationships, self. I'm disintegrated AF.
I do this thing when I disintegrate where I'm present, but not present. I give the illusion of openness, but I'm not really that open. I'm apologetic about the space I take up. I second guess damn near everything, everyone, and every interaction. I start questioning the security and strength of a lot of my relationships, convincing myself to start the withdrawal process because I'm *certain* the rejection is coming--I'm trying to get out ahead of it and isolate myself from those relationships. But staying just engaged enough to hopefully not lose them forever (because of course I've convinced myself that this is going to happen). I restrict my needs, thinking that I'll come across as waaay too needy. But also because I fear taking on one more disappointment because, again, rejection of that need. Most of those needs are so reasonable too, but I convince myself that I don't dare need. These are mainly human connection needs that I'm talking about. It's a paradox that I NEED connection, but I also fucking fear connection. When I'm in this space, people scare the shit out of me. I scare me (not because I'm a danger to myself). I am terrified of my needs, feelings, and emotions. My emotions and feelings are big. They are scary. I feel like they are going to tear me apart if I let myself acknowledge them. If I name them. If I validate them. But if I let them go, then what happens after that?
One time, a few years ago, I was in this battle between moving forward or regressing. I was so angry/sad/hurt. I was dealing with trauma (trauma of losing the things that, up to that point, had been the very fabric of my being, my identity that I'd had for 28-ish years. NEVER, EVER underestimate or dismiss how traumatizing deconstruction of belief and faith are for a person. It defined who I was. It was my *life*. My life was built and sustained on my faith and the communities of faith...until it wasn't. I would never, ever wish this on another person, btw) I fought these things for a while, but was doing some hardcore self work. So one day, as I was discussing things with someone (my mom I think?), I started letting them some the feelings and emotions out. Part of my reason for holding on? I was afraid that if I let it go, it would mean the trauma(s) didn't happen. That hit me hard. I was afraid that if I let it go, then it meant it didn't happen. I was holding on because I felt like holding on was my receipt. I paid this price for it, and I'll be damned if I let it go because it cost so much. I was holding myself hostage to prove to myself and the world, to remind us (self and world) that goddammit things happened. However, I had been processing and doing the work--which is why I was able to admit the trauma hostage situation to myself. Why I was able to speak it out loud. Those actions: the feeling, the admission, and the speaking it were bearing the witness. They were the, "I see you. I see what happened." I needed.
Obviously, as evidenced by the badass bitch that I am now (I have to keep reminding myself to try to keep myself from completely spiraling), I saw that I can heal and acknowledge that, yes, those things still happened. But holding myself in the trauma was no longer necessary. I had a whole world to discover, a me to keep uncovering and building. A me to become.
NOTE: I did not do this alone!! Therapy, safe spaces, self-work, and relationships got me through.
*SO.* I'm in that battle to not regress again. It's draining. I'm overwhelmed. I'm freaked the fuck out. Because 1. I feel like I'm losing or going to lose so much of what I've worked so hard for. 2. It's the massive amount of work that I'm going to have to do to release from this set of traumas and grief.
I never processed them properly, and it's time.
But goddammit, it pisses me off because I had a plan to do this. I told my therapist at the beginning of last month, that it was time to start *slowly* and *carefully* working through these. We'd examine a set, process, heal, and then neatly move to the next.
I. Had. A. Gahtdamb. Plan. for how this was going to work. Albeit, a highly romanticized plan because it was perfectly controlled.
That plan got messed up, and I'm so angry about it.
I also don't want to admit that my expectations a were a teensy bit unrealistic.
It's like, "Lol, that's cute!"
I'm still here, but I'm in the midst of the biggest struggle I've faced in a couple of years.
I've been trying to minimize the impact The Great Surfacing of 2019 is having on me. Because 1. (I've convinced myself) That I've talked about it enough, and people 1a. Don't want to hear about it anymore (I've overstayed my welcome on this trauma thing). 1b. Will think I'm seeking attention by talking about it
2. Were these things really *that bad*?
3. I'm overreacting.
4. See 2nd paragraph up at the beginning of this post.
God, the SHAME is STRONG here. Shame silences. Shame convinces us that our stories are not valid. That we are not worthy of love and connection. We are not worthy of support as we rumble with this shit. That we are incredibly alone. (Thanks, Brené Brown)
My Twitter handle stands: "2019 Is A Hold My Whiskey Year"
(It will not be changed until December 26, 2019, when it will be "2020 Will Be A Hold My Tequila Year" until midnight on January 1, 2020 when it will change to, "2020 Is A Hold My Tequila Year")
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