How many times can I possibly start writing this post?
This past year I’ve been doing a lot of opening, a lot of softening, and letting some “dark” emotions into the light. My habit has been to push “negative” emotions and moods down, or just keep on pushing through them. But when I so quickly attempt to dismiss these emotions, they just come back more fiercely.
So this year I’ve been letting them in. Letting them into my heart and soul. And it’s been very healing for me, because I feel more complete. I feel ready to release some things that I have been holding on to for a long time.
But it has had an unintended impact on my personal connections.
Because as open and accepting of myself as I think I am, I have not been able to be authentic with people I know.
I can’t tell them of my struggles, of my overwhelm, about all the emotions swirling inside me. I can’t tell them why I get triggered by certain questions they ask.
I just can’t.
It doesn’t feel safe.
I don’t think I’ll be judged, quite. It’s not that.
I fear that if I show you my darkness, my shame, my guilt, my fear, my overwhelm, my imperfection that you will never be able to look at me without seeing those.
You’ll see me, and then you’ll see my depression walking alongside me.
You’ll see me, and you’ll know that one one hand I want my body to change, even if the other hand believes my body is the most beautiful and radiant thing I’ve ever laid eyes on.
And not only will you see it, but I will seem unwhole to you. The light won’t overshadow the Shadow. I’ll seem like something that needs to be fixed. A puzzle with one big black hole of a piece missing.
Where does that even come from?
As I write it out, it seems so illogical. My people have never demonstrated that they would be anything besides supportive of me in my time of need. In fact, they’re probably ACHING for a way to support me. They have all given me the gift of their vulnerability and asked me to witness them. And I cannot do the same.
But I know also that my fear is legitimate. If it’s here, there’s a very good reason for it. And I am committed to meeting myself where I’m at.
So this week I’ve been playing with whispers. And all my whispers start with, “If I trusted you.”
“If I trusted you, I would tell you ________.”
If I trusted you, I would beg you to hold space for me as though you were holding the most tiny, sweet, precious baby.
If I trusted you, I would tell you that talking about my weight triggers all my stuff about self-worth.
If I trusted you, I would explain that I might be addicted to depression. Sometimes it’s the only way I get a rest day.
If I trusted you, I would tell you that I have been afraid of sexual attention from men for most of my life. And that I also crave it.
If I trusted you, I would tell you that I am afraid to release these fears, because I can fathom neither the radiance of the light or the depth of darkness that would take their place.
If I trusted you, I would feel safe knowing that you see all these sides of me, but that you also intuit my meaning, which is that I want to be alive, that I love fiercely and wholeheartedly, that I want to learn everything there is to learn and never stop, that every emotion that has ever existed on the human spectrum exists and has a voice within me.
That’s the reason empathy comes easily to me.
I sent this to a dear friend of mine, wondering if it’s the kind of thing I can share online. On one hand I want to blog from the heart, and on the other hand I feel very protective of my vulnerability.
She responded beautifully, whispering lines of “Because I trust you, _____.” So perfect.
And then this morning when I woke up, my body took advantage of the silence and said, “If you trusted me, _____.”
If you trusted me, you would know that craving M&Ms is sometimes a codeword for practicing exquisite self-care.
If you trusted me, you’d know that morning commitments are just not the right answer for you. Mornings for you can be about relaxing in comfies, drinking coffee from a beautiful mug, and writing, which is your creative passion.
If you trusted me, you wouldn’t try to escape from me.
If you trusted me, our voyage through this lifetime could be so much more than you can imagine.
If you trusted me, you’d see that your dreams (for babies, strength, passion, orgasm, connection, touch) are all possible and heartbreakingly beautiful.
If you trusted me, you wouldn’t need to beat us up for not exercising every day. You’d trust that there’s a reason. You’d trust that the fact that we procrastinate is a symptom.
This is hard, vulnerable stuff. And it’s important that we respect the fact that everyone is going through something. This blog is an absolute safe zone. It is not our place to fix, lecture, demean, or dismiss someone’s pain and fear.
Loving sighs are allowed. Invoking safe space is allowed. Sharing your own whispers of trust is allowed.