What I Wanted to Say

... but found I couldn't

I was supposed to be sharing words at a live event today. Even though I’d written three drafts of what I would say, I backed out. I found a lump in my throat and terror in my chest.

I’m not ready to tell people this story, I realized. What I wanted to say — and found I couldn’t — was that I feel lost.

I feel disconnected from myself.

I know that in the years of being a parent, in order to survive, I thought had to protect myself from something.

That something was pain.

I started with eating my feelings — a donut here, bourbon there — and now like many of us, I use media to soothe myself. Food not as much.

Coming Undone (Now and Again)

There’ve been times — especially recently — when the weight of it all has been too much. I couldn’t escape the pain.

I crack. In rushes the hurt and I find myself crazed by it.

I’ve been keeping myself alive, by and large. But I didn’t know what I was doing. I didn’t know HOW I was doing it, tbh.

I didn’t know I was cutting myself off from myself.

What a mess.

Now and then I’d realize my bucket was overfilling — I’d spill to my friends, or to Colin, or to my therapist. But eventually I’d manage mop it all back up and face forward, again, steady on.

I told my therapist — after I got fired DURING THE PANDEMIC probably for angry outbursts — that hey. Maybe I do need to work on this anger shit. Let’s work on it.

But even so, I was right. It was righteous anger!

People need to clean up their acts! People need to get their shit together. Kindness schmindness! Why don’t people start facing the TRUTH instead of hiding behind false smiles?

I’ve been so angry about a lot of things for a long time. I had been self correcting self correcting fix fix fix.

I was coasting along, averting my heart … or yelling.

When we protect ourselves so we won't feel pain, that protection becomes like armor, like armor that imprisons the softness of the heart.

— Pema Chodön, When Things Fall Apart: Heart Advice for Difficult Times

Set Me Free

I had made it through the most painful times of my life by gritting my teeth, tossing and turning. Blaming.

Sometimes I did open my heart. But I could tell from my simmering anger, I was fighting fighting fighting to dam up the pain, keep it at bay.

That doesn’t work. The heart is a lonely hunter but a persistent one.

Lately I’ve been feeling less angry, but overexposed. I feel cracked open — and still have the impulse want to hide from you, from everyone.

I am afraid to write what’s true — what I feel — because I am not sure I even have the words for it.