The philosophies and adventures of a girl, just trying to make her way in the world.
“I’ve done every damn thing in the book wrong”... this is the story of that journey.
It feels like I’m transitioning from girlhood into womanhood. (being a woman is unsafe) And to be honest, I’m feeling quite lost. (what will happen to me?) At first it felt like something was being taken from me without choice. (I’m not ready) My youth. (what other value do I have?) However, now it feels like I’m swept up in a current that is both exciting and terrifying. (where does this lead to?) And… very lonely. (I’m scared) There are desires rising so strongly, yet no guidance on how to embrace them. (so few women who inspire me) The Self I’ve called home for so long no longer fits. (I can’t hide there anymore) It’s small and uncomfortable. (everything wants to keep me small) I have outgrown it. (everything about it is safe and familiar)
List 3 things about yourself most people dont know:
1. In another lifetime I was a ranked professional swimmer.
2. In yet another lifetime I hand-raised a wombat.
3. One of my most favourite things to do is observe. Be it laying on the ground observing nature, or sitting in a bustling town centre observing people. I simply love basking in all of the information of life we are surrounded by.
I’m no longer young. I no longer have a perfect body, nor a perfect soul. My wisdom far outweighs my intellect. Yet my ability to love and forgive far outweighs it all.
This is the cost. And I will gladly pay it over and over again.
When I picture myself these days… atrocious self-esteem, a body little cared for the way I’d like, wrinkles that bring to mind how disgracefully my mother aged, my flaws screaming at me like a spotlight in the darkness… I realise that I’m not as “put together” as originally believed. And I’ve learned that my mind can’t be trusted.
All of this brings both fear and shame.
When I picture my Self these days… it radiates. I radiate. Discovering strength never known, softness previously terrified of, vulnerabilities perceived as weakness. An understanding that feelings aren’t as dangerous as once believed. A peace never dreamed possible. And an acceptance of life that is beginning to blossom into letting go.
All of this brings the realisation that I have enough.
The worry of becoming invisible is slowly being replaced with a sense of freedom. The trust that those who want to see me, will. The belief that I’m more capable of being present with another, than I thought.
My body may not be what it once was, my heart may carry more scars than ever, my soul may ache unbearably at times.
This is the cost. And I will gladly pay it over and over and over again.
Watching a talk recently, I realised that I am not a safe space. Whenever my Sir would try to open up to me and show any signs of vulnerability, I would emotionally attack Him. A part of me was aware of doing this, and would internally cringe at this seeming “need” to do so, however, I couldn’t understand why.
Now I understand. It was fear. My own fear. Fear that if He wasn’t “strong,” Who would hold everything together? Who would hold me together? Who would keep us safe? Who would keep me safe? If He didn’t have control of Himself, would I be safe with/from Him? This fear part of me would be sickened by his “weakness,” so, I would lash out and weaponise His vulnerabilities, and throw them in His face.
Ouch.
This created a cycle of heart crushingly wondering why He withdrew from me when all I so desperately wanted was connection.
My inability to sit with my own discomfort at another’s pain or fear or weakness or failures, meant that I could not be a safe space for someone to bring those things to me. The one person I purported to be for Him. Home. Thankfully He is sensitive enough that His emotions transpire quite physically, so I am able to very much see through His actions of physically withdrawing, how much my behaviour was affecting Him emotionally.
As someone who couldn’t imagine anything worse than hurting those I love, to realise that I am actually not only hurting them, but betraying them, is a very painful pill to swallow. It’s painful to realise how much damage can be done before awareness points out what we’re doing. Attacking someone who is choosing to be vulnerable is the worst betrayal I can think of.
Now with awareness, the work begins of learning. Learning that discomfort is vulnerability. It is my own vulnerability that I am afraid of when someone else shows up in these spaces. Hating the discomfort of being witness to their pain and fear and weakness and failures, without being able to “fix” or “control.”
If I’m so busy trying to deny and hide from the enormity of all of that, there is no way I’m even present with them. I’m too busy playing dodgeball… or perhaps more aptly, blame game… rather than simply sitting in my discomfort and owning it, to allow for them to sit in theirs and not feel alone. Allowing us both to be vulnerable together. Recognising that it’s not about survival… it’s about us. Understanding that it’s not about me. His fear does not make me unsafe. His pain does not make me responsible. His weakness does not make me vulnerable. His failures are not mine to own. It occurred to me this morning that despite, I think, the twisted idea we seem to have around it within society, self-esteem is actually being able to feel internally safe within ourselves regardless of what is occurring in our external environment. And that can only come from doing our own work. Nothing else.
As Brenè Brown so beautifully says:
“Show me a woman who can hold space for a man in real fear and vulnerability, and I’ll show you a woman who’s learned to embrace her own vulnerability and who doesn’t derive her power or status from that man. Show me a man who can sit with a woman in real fear and vulnerability and just hear her struggle without trying to fix it or give advice, and I’ll show you a man who’s comfortable with his own vulnerability and doesn’t derive his power from being Oz, the all-knowing and all-powerful.”
Shame is the intensely painful feeling or experience of believing that we are flawed and therefore unworthy of love and belonging.
~Brenè Brown~
Shame started as a two-person experience, but as I got older I learned how to do shame all by myself.
~Robert Hilliker~
Shame and vulnerability have been on my mind as of late, and the above quote sums it up. This intense shame carried for so long derives from a combination of that which was given to me by others (family, friends, society), that I have carried so loyally, and my own creations built from that. It feels like a splinter in the paw. Ever present in everything I touch, yet somehow so familiar that I had learned to almost forget it was there. This inability to sit with my own shame has not only prevented me from being able to recognise and sit with others in their shame, oftentimes this meeting of wounds would send me spiralling into fight or flight, unable to face the vulnerability in something so tender.
This most recent part of my journey of stepping into the realm of finally addressing and releasing the shame I carry, around, well, everything… my body and my mind… or perhaps more accurately, simply being me, is confronting to say the least. Somewhere along the lines a snowball of shame began rolling down my hill and it has gathered momentum and size ever since. Others added to it, however, I have done a rather fine job of maintaining it myself. There have been Angels along the way who have tried to help, but the momentum was just too great. Until now. Piece by piece, utilising the resources and help I have gathered along the way, I’m now working towards dissipating this snowball.
It is through my deepest vulnerabilities that I happened upon uncovering this “secret” (ever notice how shame loves to live in the darkest places?). Unlocking the door that has been hiding who I am, standing naked, and finally looking without judgements. Bare. In raw honesty. And not feeling a need to try to control the outcome of that.
This has been both terrifying and liberating. How odd to have discovered that my greatest freedoms lay on the other side of my greatest fears. Being seen. Realising that everything may or may not be true. More importantly, realising that it doesn’t matter. There are weeds in my garden, and I am learning to be ok with that. They serve a purpose and have value, as does everything. I am learning to love my weeds! My garden is not perfect, and I am learning to be ok with that. I have the power to create it to whatever likeness I choose. And I choose for it to be uniquely mine, however that may look, weeds and all.
Somehow this realisation makes all the shame fears seem less powerful. Not less scary… just somehow… less important than they once seemed.
When I began my journey of “I give myself permission…” (to whatever it may be), I didn’t realise that what I was essentially doing was learning to break my chains of shame. However, I see so clearly now that that is what was occurring. It is removing the critics, both inner and outer, from having residence in my choices, and finally simply choosing to be who I am and do what feels necessary in my journey. There is a quiet joy in that. And even if there are plenty of tears, there is also a gentle Freedom.
I’ve been told this a lot. In awe. Like it’s some kind of superpower. It’s not. And the fact that people seem to believe it is, makes me sad.
We can all be kind. It’s a choice.
Always.
When given the choice of how to respond to anything, I always try to choose kindness. I don’t always succeed, however, that’s a gift in itself of showing me where I still need work.
Now, some tend to believe that to choose to be kind means we must lie. I don’t lend to that belief. We can speak truth gently and with kindness. All it takes is a few ingredients: a little thought, a little heart, and some understanding that we’re all human and doing the best we can with what we have.
Like anything, kindness simply takes learning and practice. It’s not a superpower. It’s not special. It’s choosing the hard road. The one that honours both you and me, in a world that tells us that the only way to survive and get ahead is at the cost of others. The cost of another’s dignity to prove you’re “right,” or “smarter,” or “better looking,” or “more successful,” or “more loveable,” or “more deserving.” All this competition of stepping on one another to prove you’re worth more as a human. Everyone has worth. Everyone has value. Everyone has something to contribute. And everyone has something to learn.
Something that has haunted me since ending my marriage and realising in hindsight that I could’ve stayed and tried much longer than I did, is knowing when to give up. I never wanted to give up too soon again. But it brought with it the question… how does one know when it’s truly over? I don’t think there’s a “one answer” to this. I believe it’s as much of an individual answer as there are people.
So then… when is my “moment,” and would I recognise it when it arrived?
“I need You to tell me to give up,” I said.
‘But I still want cuddles and affection,’ He said. ‘I’m just making it harder on you aren’t I.’
I pause. I can’t keep doing this. “It’s simple,” I say. “Do I give up?”
‘FUCK.’ ‘I don’t think I can say those words today to you.’
“Ok.” The usual flicker of hope reignites inside me.
‘But that’s not fair either. And I don’t want to torture you. I want to protect you and keep you safe.’
‘He didn’t say it,’ whispers the flicker.
“I know,” I say to Him.
“You don’t need to say it today.” “When you’re ready, that’s what I need.”
Sitting in heartbreak is horrendous. Trying to navigate that heartbreak with the person breaking your heart, is even worse. Especially when you know they’re essentially a good person, and really truly don’t actually want to be hurting you. The lack of control at being able to understand why something broken can’t be fixed, is soul shattering.
Somewhere throughout last night and this morning I realised something. We’ve been travelling different paths. I have been thinking we were trying to work out how we could make this work. He’s been trying to decide if He loves me. Ouch.
There’s no room for hope left in the space between us. There’s nothing to be angry about. He’s a good man. Great, actually. He stayed and tried so hard. I tried so hard too.
Sometimes trying isn’t enough.
I realised today that I don’t need to hear those words… and He can’t say them. It’s not His responsibility to tell me to let go. It’s mine to own.
So, I have given *myself* permission to give up… to let go.
How do I know it’s time?
Because I am at peace with the decision. It’s not made out of anger. It’s not made out of fear. It’s not made from a desire to inflict hurt. It’s made out of love and respect and understanding for U/us both.
My heart is full of grief and sadness for all of the hope that was. But that’s ok. Hope is a beautiful thing. It never ceases unless we choose for it to.
This journey has shown me so many areas of healing I still need, and so many areas in which I’ve come so far. It has been such a blessing of growth and companionship and friendship and care. But it’s time to stop flogging a dead horse, and face the reality.
Ugh. I’m always scared posting these ones. The “outside the box” blogs. There’s always a fear of revealing too much and opening myself up to being attacked, or judged, or both. However, I am learning to sit with that fear, and do it anyway…
Accepting my desire to suffer has been probably the most difficult aspect of coming to know myself. I say “desire to suffer,” because oftentimes I feel like “masochism” doesn’t quite represent what it’s about for me. I don’t get direct pleasure from pain. In fact, I hate pain. However, what I do love, is enduring pain despite hating it… that is where I find my suffering. And that satisfies a deep part of me that I cannot explain.
As someone who strives for growth though, oftentimes I struggle with this aspect. More often than not I find myself falling into a belief that this desire comes from damage and brokenness. So I try to step away from it and into my intellect so I can figure out the “why’s” and “should’s” so maybe I can “heal” it. However, other times, especially when I read about our long, historical relationship as humans, with pain and suffering and martyrdom, I can’t help but feel that it runs deeper than trauma. Somehow it feels visceral. As an overthinker, this is where I get stuck. Am I missing something? Or am I simply unwilling to accept something because it’s uncomfortable? I don’t know. And I don’t know how to know. Perhaps it’s something my mind and heart can’t understand and call dibs on. Perhaps this one’s just for my soul.
Reading something recently that very much resonated, I’m back at the place of feeling like it’s more. More than just me. More than just this flesh. More than just what we see and feel and touch and smell and taste and think. A place that exists beyond. Beyond fear. Beyond ourselves. (Not beyond common sense).
I can’t help feeling that this is a part of my journey, a part of my healing, a part of my growth, a part of all that is… a part of life, rather than something that stands alone. I have found my most beautiful self in my suffering. It is when I have been most open and receptive and accepting, managing to sit softly in my feminine and simply be. Yet, whilst also feeling the passion and chaos that resides there. It is when I have seen and experienced life in its most raw, innately beautiful form. Connected. Seeing all of us in the fragile humanity we share. The bonds that unite us. The chains that imprison us.
For me there is a magic in suffering. A love. A reverence. I can understand why some see “religious” aspects to it. However, I also recognise my privilege in being able to choose it. That must never be forgotten or overlooked. I am lucky enough to be in a position to “choose” my suffering to a degree, and my heart breaks for those who cannot.
Although it’s something I don’t yet understand, and am beginning to ponder the possibility that I may never, one thing I am beginning to learn in the full context of this journey we call life, is that denial certainly never brings us any closer to having answers. So perhaps it’s time to let go of the urge to carry denial around this aspect of myself, and see what it has to say…