Solitary Belonging
A Poem and Being a Mother while healing from depression and crippling social anxiety.
I have spent most of my life alone, even if I was in a relationship. I’ve always thought I enjoyed it fully but there is a real part missing. I am a human after all, no matter how introverted or traumatized by my past. “We are hardwired to connect with others. It’s what brings purpose to our lives, and without it there is suffering.” Brene Brown so perfectly states. I have been in suffering for over two decades. Somewhere in my teens I split. Somewhere in my early childhood, I decided I was defective. Rejection after rejection from classmates, I was not fit for friendship.
The fear of human interaction in real life has kept me solitary for years. The stories repeating in my consciousness kept me form allowing true connection. Now, I am able to clear the stories but only if I pay attention to my experience in real time and prioritize my self care. Pausing, breathing, noticing. I have done so much healing work on me and loving my own self. Finally taking care of all my parts, I feel human again. I am at a point in my life where I no longer wish to pretend or to mask up to make it work but that means coming to terms with my full humanity not just within my home and family but, out there.
If I think clearly and creatively, this terror, could be turned into excitement of finally getting to show who I truly am and believe to be of worth. There is a big scary door appears on days I cannot access my clear mind and tune into my deep knowing that I am whole. “I am meant to live in peace” Martha Beck, rings in my ear and I repeat furiously. When I cannot access my peace, anxiety of opening my real self, in my real body, fully authentic to the people “out there”, through the open door, stops me before I even approach
.
I am my harshest critic, judging myself as soon as I rise. I disregard my own humanity, quickly bullying myself into the corner. You are “crazy”, “not good enough”. If I am I am not careful to course correct, this dialogue could continue throughout the day, into multiple days, into weeks. Sending me back to the cloudy black glass box, confining me in darkness until I shatter it again. I am not going back there. If I go back there, the inner bully, spills out behind the masked self. She is not a kind person because she is so very unkind to herself. She is not the part of myself I wish to parent from, the inner hurt child. So I, the love and light in me, fights to be the one who speaks loudest, the one who gets the lead roll. The others, can be in the chorus only filling out the sound to be whole.
I have to push through my discomfort of living and showing up because I know there is something to learn now through the fear and struggle. I have to live for not just my own life and growth, but for my daughters. I need to teach them how to live and connect with themselves as well as others. I am driven by my longing to live and full life so my daughter can learn how. So I push myself and sometimes it works and I have a positive experience to add to my memories. Sometimes it doesn’t and I meet the friend or go to the playdate and I leave feeling utterly confused, did I make good conversation or was I oversharing again. Being “too much, overly emotional or too sensitive” were common comments throughout my life. They seem to be ingrained on a record player in my head, ready to sing their tune loudly as soon as they see a crack in my confidence. These interactions have had the power to knock me off the healing train if I am not careful to process what my experience was truly. That the stories I am telling myself are exactly that, stories from my past life.
What I do know, is that my friendship muscles are getting stronger as are my skills in writing, processing and understanding my human experience. Becoming a researcher, becoming curious of what happens in my body when I am in fear, in anxiety and in contrast in joy and in what circumstances created these feelings? Exploring different paths and avenues to find the right method to my own human madness. Experimenting with community of different kinds and making note of my experience can shed light in the darkest corners of my phyche. “This is why I do what I do when I feel the way I feel.” Most of the time I run, at least that is what I used to do. If I write it down, draw it out, I can find the gear that fell out of alignment. I can find the part that feels full and loved and what was is that made it so beautiful. I can find the fire and put it out or add wood to the keep it burning.
I observe the fear. Trace the story back to find where the page was blank, before the fear made its mark.
I have my confident days now where I feel fully free within my being and soul. The days where I can physically live out my light and not question myself and every interaction, nuanced movement, mirco expression, word choice. If I am living in my light, I am able to see past the stories in my head and filter through them in real time. Although, if I have less than a full tank of confidence, the car that is my body will breakdown half way on the road trip, leaving me frazzled, anxious, edgy. I fear the outcome of the days where I do not have a perfectly fit vehicle for life. But this is the model I have so how can I use it to serve me and those around me best?
I do not have to open every door. Just the ones I have a key to.
Solitary Belonging
I could survive
In solitary
Give me books and paints
I quite enjoy my own company
Existing in feeling
Embodied on a page
In a room filled with silence
The most sacred of corner
I sit in reverence.
Where I’m friends with the rug
We have met here nightly
The ground and I
I crouch as low as I can
Consolidate my thoughts
Reciprocating my stance
But alone is lonely
Inhumane
Sharing and caring
Connected in name.
I belong to myself. Yes. That is true. But I have more to share I’m just not sure how And I’m scared to push through The next door or window Which direction and where But I have to. Keep going. You’ll find it. Out there. -Rae Delisle