Funny the difference,
A year makes.
Bittersweet the dullness,
That comes with acceptance.
That which numbs the pain,
Also tempers the spirit.
Do I accept this as defeat;
The end of my journey?
The devotion I long for,
Just out of reach?
Or does the file,
That smooths the pain,
Also sharpen the edge,
To one’s passion?
Will this heart,
So difficult to love,
Remain closed, or,
Long to be seen again?
It’ll be interesting to see,
The difference a year makes.
I have been trying very hard to frame this past year as one of ‘pruning’. Not just in how I talk to others about the past eleven months or so, but also in how I internally define this experience. You see, pruning is the art of selectively removing diseased or less than optimal pieces for the sake of a healthier whole. Mostly used in horticulture, I have been using the term to try and find a positive spin on the loss that I have encountered this year.
But pruning still comes with pain and grief. You are still losing a part of yourself. A part that held a portion of your identity, was part of your whole. There will always be a scar over that place. It supposedly diminishes as time marches on, but it remains a reminder of everything that part of you held.
To be completely honest, I knew in the summer of 2022 that there was disruption headed my way. There were multiple situations that had been simmering up to that point. I had ignorantly quieted my gut while being told that my intuition was merely an effect of my past trauma. I pushed aside the fear, while blissfully continuing on this journey, quite unaware that it was keeping pace beside me the entire time.
Then that summer came. It presented the first tangible evidence of what I had been fearing all along. All of that fear that had been waiting for acknowledgment overtook me. I felt like I was stuck, watching a wrecking ball in slow motion as it crushed so many important parts of my life. Nothing I could do to save any piece of it except slowly watch it all crumble away while being consumed in the fear of what part of me it was going to target next.
That fear was debilitating. The cause of anxiety attacks, hiding on the floor in my bathroom, withdrawing from life; but mostly the inability to find any value in tomorrow. It felt like so much of my life was being ripped away from me and I had no control over it. I knew I couldn’t continue on like this as my health and work were suffering. Most importantly, I wasn’t the person I wanted to be anymore. The light that I had found in myself that previous year was quickly being hidden away again.
This fear infiltrated almost every portion of my life. I was putting those closest to me through a litmus test as I tried to sort out the betrayal I had experienced. Yes, betrayed by others, but mostly myself. Overcorrecting after ignoring my intuition, now questioning every interaction and conversation. Paranoia sets in and the distress starts to poison the healthy parts of my life. The very parts that were keeping me alive and supporting the whole of who I was, they were starting to wither, too.
While the loss from this year was not caused by fear, it was definitely magnified by it. I held on to these parts of me much longer than I should have. Consumed by what I thought I was losing, delusion started to take hold. I no longer saw these parts of me for what they truly were, rather what I wanted them to be. Reality became much more fluid and I was losing the energy to keep holding on to the truth. I was on a path to lose even more, but this time, a direct result of that fear.
So I pruned. While most of the pruning has been tangible and seen from the outside, the most important part of me that I am cutting away at is that fear. It is fear that kept me from more gracefully trimming those unhealthy parts out of my life. It is fear that caused me to expend so much energy trying to keep the poisoned parts alive and healthy, putting the rest of me at risk. The fear of losing something that wasn’t really mine to lose in the first place. The fear of simply letting go.
In its place, I am allowing thanksgiving to take hold. Grateful that I, quite literally, made it to this point still breathing. Appreciation for the family, friends and colleagues who have stuck with me even though my light was extinguished and still want to be a part of my rebuilding. Grateful for every part of my life and for the acceptance that it may not be permanent. Thankful for the whole of who I am, scars and all.
A couple months ago, I found myself ending a relationship. Some of you know the details, some of you may not. It was one of the hardest decisions I have had to make and the fallout has not been kind to me. While I may write more on the topic later, there is one thing I want to share now.
After the relationship ended, I found myself really struggling with whether or not I was truly loved by this person. I couldn’t rationalize someone hurting another person they love in the ways I had been hurt. It didn’t make sense to me, my view of the world or my way of being. It falls contrary to everything I believe to be true and beneficial to relationships; whether romantic or otherwise.
I spent months wrestling with this question of whether I was actually loved by them…at least in the way I wanted to be loved. Trying to separate the person from the affliction; to rationalize their actions between those that were so loving and those that caused so much pain.
That struggle has yet to produce any finite answer to this central question of their love. It is always met with an abyss that I quickly retreat from. I never feel like an understanding comes to my aid or a conclusion to my rescue. I keep being met with a dense cloud of fog obstructing my view.
So I started to question why I want these answers so badly. See, when I am met with a perpetual haze, that typically means that my desire to know is driven by the wrong reason; my longing for conclusion fed by impure fuel.
Then one day it made sense; I really only wanted to know if I should have loved them. My pride was spending countless hours trying to protect others’ perception of my judgment. My pride was causing this turmoil to continue as I sorted out the pieces of the life I had and had hoped for it to be. My pride was the driving force behind finding an answer to whether they truly loved me.
So I had to ask myself, should the question of their love for me determine whether I should have loved them? Should the validity of my feelings really rely on whether I can prove they felt the same about me?
No. Love should be given freely. Without warrant or justification. Regardless of faults, weaknesses or strengths. Love was not meant to be a currency or tool for bartering in the streets. It was meant to be a gift.
And man, did I love them.
Do you ever have the burning desire to torch it all to the ground? Friendships, relationships, partnerships, careers? The drive to purify your life with a figurative fire? Clearing the way for new life like the unbridled forest fire?
I’m there. I have been for months now. They say when it rains it pours and the past six to eight months have been a monsoon of (romantic and plutonic) relationships being tested. What really sucks is those relationships are the ones that you are supposed to lean on for support in these very seasons. To have my foundation be chiseled away while the earth beneath me is shaking makes for a violent situation.
I’ve never understood shadiness. The art of playing both sides of the coin. My parents say I have always been a black and white sort of person. Valuing authenticity and one’s ability to just say how it is. I am one that will judge you for what you don’t say in lieu of what does come out of your mouth. Manipulation with a semi-honest narrative will surely grab my ire. Offending by just speaking the truth will garner my respect.
My grasp on reality has been tainted. It’s been such a struggle to sort out the truth in what has been said as it contradicts their actions. Am I the crazy one? How are people not seeing the disparity that I see? Or do they and they just don’t care? If they don’t care, how can you trust these people and lean on them for support? The unquantifiable toll that this takes on your mental health is, at the very least, exhausting. For me, debilitating.
I struggle to understand how I got to this point. How did I let myself ignore the signs that I saw so vividly? How did I let so many people into my life that I knew, deep down, would just end up hurting me in the end? Looking back, I guess it has been a trend since childhood. Giving the narcissists so many second chances. A therapist would probably say it’s my way of trying to fix the first narcissist that I ever looked up to, but yet hurt me so deeply. I guess that should be worked out over $150/hour next week.
Can you really blame a child of the evangelical movement for wanting to burn it all down? We were taught so many times that we are purified, like gold, by the fire. Purging the impurities from our life, making us more like the image of God. The problem is, when you are hurt by the very people that are so insistent that you must be purged by the flames, one can’t help but realize that fire may need to be turned outward.
While I should wait until the rainy season is over to set my world ablaze, I am so desperate to cleanse my life of this torment that I rather expend the futile effort to start a fire only to have it be smothered by the constant pouring.
So, if you see me in the downpour, trying to light some match over and over again; just throw me another set.
I want to feel,
The thrill of running a red light.
The rush of subverting,
A one way road.
Endangered,
Reckless,
Caution, my foe.
At least my menace,
I can control.
The hostility,
Self-inflicted.
The violence,
By my invitation.
Rage,
My obedient servant.
Instead I lay here,
Dulled by the pain,
Of another’s actions.
Helpless,
Muted,
No control.