Where have I been?
The desire to write has been sucked out of me lately.
I don’t know if that is a good or a bad thing. Usually, if I am feeling angsty and pained, writing is my outlet. If I’m not writing, I’m probably feeling better.
…But, I don’t think that is the case.
No…instead, I think I am just stuck. Unsure of what I feel. Or if I feel.
And then, at other moments, feeling too much.
I’m in a weird space.
A space where, I can tell, I might be stuck at a while.
One of the most difficult aspects of this whole “healing journey” has been the pace. I am the queen of immediate gratification. I am not patient.
But healing…it is slow. It is up and down and never in a straight line.
And, I have gotten to a point of exhaustion, I think. So much thinking, so much ruminating, so much time trying to control the uncontrollable.
I want answers.
I want to know what life is going to look like. I want to know that I am lovable. I want to know who will stay in my life.
I am also stuck in the pain and the injustice of my mother-daughter relationship and my childhood.
I ask myself, again and again, What did I do wrong? How come I wasn’t loved the way a little girl should be loved?
In that, there is a sort of hope–maybe, maybe, if I could just finally get the answer, I might be able to “fix” what I did wrong. I might be able to finally be lovable enough for my mom to love me the way I’ve always wanted.
People–my counselor, books, friends–they tell me, “That is the wrong question to be asking. It was never about YOU.”
I hear them. I want to believe them.
But…how do I do that?
Because–and believe me when I tell you–I still feel very much like that scared little 8 year old girl hiding in her closet. In my most anxious, depressed moments, I am very easily transported back to her. The fear. The insecurity.
That little girl? She needs reassurance. She needs to know that someone loves her and that she is okay just the way she is.
She needs to know that she will not be left alone…her greatest fear.
I still need those things.
So, again and again, I ask myself…How could it not be about me? Or How can I believe that it wasn’t?
Because, when I was that little girl, sitting, terrified, in that closet–needing a hug and reassurance–it never came. There were no explanations. No affection and comforting words or touches.
And, when that was all I needed and what I didn’t get, I could only come to the conclusion that there must be something wrong with me.
And I have held that belief inside ever since.
Knowing and doing are two very different things.
I know I need to interrupt the mean mom voice inside my head. I know I need to redirect my thinking and accept my feelings as they come.
Instead, I fight them. I listen to the voice. I believe the voice.
And then, I beat myself up. I feel frustrated. I ask, “Why?! Do you want to be stuck here FOREVER?”
And at times, I truly wonder if that answer is YES.
Do I not want to be better?
Is it simply easier to stay stuck in the hurt than to do the incredibly hard work of healing?
What do I get by staying here?
But, what is out there?
It is all such a very, very tangled web of awfulness.
And, I am tired.
So. This is where I am. Stuck. Feeling too much and then feeling nothing. Spending my days in autopilot, breathing carefully, so as not to ruffle any feathers.
Hoping that the relationships that I do have can somehow fill the hole that is in my heart…and also knowing that I somehow have to learn how to fill that hole all on my own…a task that seems impossible.