The past several years, I've felt it building, but this year I've pulled back the curtains on so many different secrets. Not in large degree, by any means. And only a little here, or a little there to any real people...and only particular ones. In fact, as I think about it, only 3. 2.5, maybe.
I live my life honestly.
For a few people, I tell them that I will never lie to them.
About anything.
Not even myself.
No matter how hard it is for me.
I will never choose to hide the truth, not about anything important, not to anyone.
But this...
THAT...only a small handful of people have been offered that. Only those 3. And I doubt that any understand what it really means. Well...one does. And she knows everything.
It's still a very unsettling thing for me. Like most of these "secrets" do, just by their nature, there is a central core of shame attached. It's what creates the shadows, creates the secret and prolongs the hiding, protecting our most vulnerable places.
The journey, for me, has definitely not been an easy one. I've avoided this particular post, just the frank discussion of this choice to expose myself, for almost a year. And to be very honest, which is the point here, in this blog of life and thought and passage, and this entry in particular, I'm swallowing panic. Fighting a shock reaction. My arms are weak, my lips are tingling and I feel quite sick. I know that sounds dramatic, I don't mean for it to. It's simple fact.
It's been this way, which each post of this type.
I post, I revert it to draft. I think. I re post. I pull it. I beat myself up over my cowardice, I cry. I put my headphones in, music up, beat the shit out of the punching bag, come up and dare myself to post again. I do. I yank it again.
What's the big deal, some say. I hear you. And...I don't know how to answer that.
Fear.
Of judgement. Of being seen as weak. Damaged. Unworthy. Wrong.
I know.
It's often said, and I myself do generally believe it, that we believe that we are seen by others the way that we see them. We feel judged according to how we judge.
That is absolutely valid in many instances.
Not here. Not in these types of situations. Not for me, at any rate.
I've talked with many people, mostly young people, about self-harm, sexual abuse, suicide, depression, panic, eating disorders...I rarely need to do any explaining beyond the few key words that we of those shadows know well. It's a code, of sorts. I don't ask them for details. They don't press me for proof. We know. And in those vital contact points, we connect, we share, we understand...we hold, we release, we gather, and most importantly, we know that we are not alone.
There is no judgement.
There is no pity.
There are tears, empathetic pain, spread, diminished in that moment, a space of peace and rest while another carries our burden, for just that instant.
We meet everywhere. The signs of different things are obvious. Some things are more open to acknowledgment. Small conversation, these random encounters...a checking in with a remote counselor, the timing of which always reaffirms my belief that coincidence is a myth. I'm no savior. I'm just another flawed, scarred human. But I've gone beyond survival, in many respects.
These situations, these are easy now. We know that we are battling the same demons, of our own judgements on ourselves. Because, as I type these words and work through these thoughts, that's really what it is.
The self blame, the harshest critics of our own selves, we perpetuate the cycle. Why?
I don't know.
There are many theories. I could rattle off at least 8 right now, but it makes me feel weary just thinking of them.
Because it's known.
Because in the knowing, it's safe.
Because if we begin to accept, it might be seen by others and not accepted...easier to stay hidden than risk it.
The top 3, I believe. The others are of the ilk that we've all heard...and it's all true. Don't tell, they won't believe the truth. They'll believe you made it happen. They'll say that you're over dramatic. They'll think you're sick and need locked away, etc etc etc.
Rabbit trail.
Why am I doing this?
I'm 49 yrs old.
It's the last step, for me, in removing the victim's skin from my soul. It's the hardest thing I've ever done. I feel weak in my efforts to be strong and sick in the face of my personal call to courage.
I've forgiven those outside of myself...and forgiven me, as well.
I've come to accept that the past is only that, the past. It's a well of experience that I can use to bless and help others. It can't hurt me anymore, except in the hiding...in the constant fear of being seen and being rejected as all those things mentioned above. Rejected as damaged. Rejected as unworthy of anything good and lovely.
Damaged? Certainly. Aren't we all?
Worthy of life? Of love? Of joy?
Of course.
Aren't we all?
What I've learned is that the people who truly matter in our lives, they know we're broken. They see the scars, the ugly bits. But to them, those parts aren't ugly. Or broken. They are simply a part of us. I know this is what they see, those that do know, because that is how I see others.
Unless there is intentional cruelty, then I'm as far away as the earth will allow me to be. Just sayin.
I see your scars. I see more than that. I hear them, and gift or curse, I feel them.
And I love you, regardless. I accept you. Fully. Good/bad, as you may see yourself...I see beautiful.
So.
Why can't I believe, why can't I trust, that others will see me in that way, as I see them?
Perhaps it comes down to those feelings of worth.
I value...but do not expect to be valued. Not if the "truth" is known.
A note. This is a large therapy session for me, and I do realize that I am contradicting points here. This is not unnoticed by me. I've been in enough therapy sessions, good ones, to know that this is often how it goes...rattle and find the inconsistencies. Those are your holes.
So, while I say that the people in our lives that truly matter will look beyond, the fact of that statement is that without disclosure and the risk of them not understanding, there is no other way of learning that they will understand.
And so you try, a little here, a little there...slowly, bit by bit...to open your soul to them. To let them see, if they choose.
Hello, limb. Shall we climb out on your skinny little branch and sit there for awhile?
Also...I stated that I forgive...yet as I am working through this, feelings of anger are in me over the programmed lies that replay and need constant unlooping.
In all of my broken bits, that truly are not broken anymore, can you accept me?
If you knew, could you love me?
Can you forgive me the pain of my past? Forgive me my scars?
Can you recognize the value in the lessons that I have gleaned from these things, can you see that I am who I am because of what has happened?
I ask this with no trace of arrogance.
I ask, feeling small.
Very small.
Frightened.
Courage is not the absence of fear, but action in the face of it.
There is a small frog outside my window, on this late December night.
Plucky little bugger.
Now that...that is courage.
Would that I had what that small creature has.
Perhaps I do.
So, this is a bit of a mess, I think.
But I am going to post it and leave it here for the rest of the night.
We'll see what happens in the morning.
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