we are human, after all
so yeah, in a shocking twist (only to me, apparently other people realize this shit and either never tell me or it doesn't penetrate if they have [but I prefer the global conspiracy idea, mwahahahah])-- my therapy appointment left me feeling better.
There was a hell of a lot of crying, because I was and still am, frankly, pretty fucking upset about everything I've been dealing with. The external pressures are awful enough, but adding in the way I react to things tends to make your typical epic shitstorm more of a CODE RED: TRAUMA MAELSTROM.
Before I start talking about my therapy, I do want to make clear that Yes, I do sometimes feel like an enormous weirdo talking to myself, as if I somehow internalized the idea that everything I do in my life must come with a rubberstamped LOGICAL seal of approval--but seriously, y'all, it works, and that's way good enough for me.
It's so fucking awkward reaching out to the part of me that feels righteous anger. It's familiar, part of me, but rejected, distorted, like seeing myself in a fun-house mirror and feeling like it's an entirely different person--maybe because of all the time I spent forcing my anger at other people into shapes that hurt me, or under the bed, maybe in a closet, where I could pretend it didn't exist, because I was never angry, never upset, never shamed or violated.
All that time spent lying to myself, trying desperately to believe it so that I could be someone different, someone who didn't care about the pain, because that just opened up another vulnerability for attack.
That's not my anger, though, that's another part of me. I acknowledge it, the way that hiding felt safer. I feel compassion for the part of me who was willing to force the anger far away, because at the time, it seemed like the only way to get the attacks to stop. But it's okay now, I reassure that part of me, I know much better how I can protect myself, I can cope with being hurt, and I have other people around me who will help me protect myself if and when I need them. It's okay to let the anger and upset back in.
That part of me, trying to protect me from being angry, from being vulnerable, retreats a little, and I can move forward.
So now I reach out, gentle fingers, linking hands with a part of me I rejected so long ago I once told my first therapist that "I never feel anger, because there's no point." I wordlessly apologize for that, but my anger doesn't hold grudges.
If it's made of righteous fire, it doesn't burn me, it warms me. If it's frozen, forcing others out by pain of frost, I feel refreshed. If it's a desert, I know where every oasis is, and my water never runs out. It's part of me, and my anger was never trying to hurt me.
I hold that part of me close, and I whisper in its metaphorical ear. It's okay to be upset when people hurt me, and to want things to change, I tell that anger. I understand. I want that too.
~/ And now I know that having you, letting you be part of me will lead to good things, because you can help me set boundaries, direct my energies productively, and refuse to let anyone hurt me with my consent.
Thank you for sticking around until I could accept you again. Thank you for trying to protect me. I appreciate what you've always tried to do, what you still try to do, and we're going to work together to make sure you can do it better. /~
It turns out... even if I'm not sure I can ever really fully love or accept myself as a whole, loving parts of me is easy, even the "dangerous" parts, because they were just trying to do their jobs and take care of me.
Even if parts of me, when trying to fix things, hurt me now or in the past, it wasn't the original intent, and. . . . every part of me, me myself, we-I can change. I can consciously work with my upset, and my rage, and my shame, and my self-hatred, even if I haven't been able to reach some parts of me yet. I adore my therapist so much for opening up this new avenue of self-care to me.
I know I want to change, I want to live a more mindful, conscious life. I want to heal. And I have a lot of hope that all of the above? Already happening, slowly but surely.
Originally posted at Dreamwidth. Comment there (
), or feel free to comment here.
There was a hell of a lot of crying, because I was and still am, frankly, pretty fucking upset about everything I've been dealing with. The external pressures are awful enough, but adding in the way I react to things tends to make your typical epic shitstorm more of a CODE RED: TRAUMA MAELSTROM.
Before I start talking about my therapy, I do want to make clear that Yes, I do sometimes feel like an enormous weirdo talking to myself, as if I somehow internalized the idea that everything I do in my life must come with a rubberstamped LOGICAL seal of approval--but seriously, y'all, it works, and that's way good enough for me.
It's so fucking awkward reaching out to the part of me that feels righteous anger. It's familiar, part of me, but rejected, distorted, like seeing myself in a fun-house mirror and feeling like it's an entirely different person--maybe because of all the time I spent forcing my anger at other people into shapes that hurt me, or under the bed, maybe in a closet, where I could pretend it didn't exist, because I was never angry, never upset, never shamed or violated.
All that time spent lying to myself, trying desperately to believe it so that I could be someone different, someone who didn't care about the pain, because that just opened up another vulnerability for attack.
That's not my anger, though, that's another part of me. I acknowledge it, the way that hiding felt safer. I feel compassion for the part of me who was willing to force the anger far away, because at the time, it seemed like the only way to get the attacks to stop. But it's okay now, I reassure that part of me, I know much better how I can protect myself, I can cope with being hurt, and I have other people around me who will help me protect myself if and when I need them. It's okay to let the anger and upset back in.
That part of me, trying to protect me from being angry, from being vulnerable, retreats a little, and I can move forward.
So now I reach out, gentle fingers, linking hands with a part of me I rejected so long ago I once told my first therapist that "I never feel anger, because there's no point." I wordlessly apologize for that, but my anger doesn't hold grudges.
If it's made of righteous fire, it doesn't burn me, it warms me. If it's frozen, forcing others out by pain of frost, I feel refreshed. If it's a desert, I know where every oasis is, and my water never runs out. It's part of me, and my anger was never trying to hurt me.
I hold that part of me close, and I whisper in its metaphorical ear. It's okay to be upset when people hurt me, and to want things to change, I tell that anger. I understand. I want that too.
~/ And now I know that having you, letting you be part of me will lead to good things, because you can help me set boundaries, direct my energies productively, and refuse to let anyone hurt me with my consent.
Thank you for sticking around until I could accept you again. Thank you for trying to protect me. I appreciate what you've always tried to do, what you still try to do, and we're going to work together to make sure you can do it better. /~
It turns out... even if I'm not sure I can ever really fully love or accept myself as a whole, loving parts of me is easy, even the "dangerous" parts, because they were just trying to do their jobs and take care of me.
Even if parts of me, when trying to fix things, hurt me now or in the past, it wasn't the original intent, and. . . . every part of me, me myself, we-I can change. I can consciously work with my upset, and my rage, and my shame, and my self-hatred, even if I haven't been able to reach some parts of me yet. I adore my therapist so much for opening up this new avenue of self-care to me.
I know I want to change, I want to live a more mindful, conscious life. I want to heal. And I have a lot of hope that all of the above? Already happening, slowly but surely.
Originally posted at Dreamwidth. Comment there (
), or feel free to comment here.