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…
