I’ve busied myself my whole life and now it seems all the pain that was buried unearthed itself all at once. Primal terror. I am reading Attached by Amir Levine and Rachel Heller. It like its predecessors, Conscious Uncoupling, and so many others reaffirms that everything I have been going through is easily explained by evolutionary theory, and not some personal deficiency.
I remember when I was interested in Bowlby, the pioneering researcher on attachment, before I even took a college class. I had articles printed by him as a young thing before schooling was ever a glimmer in my eye.
It helps me to not shame myself now, as I’m going through one of the hardest patches I have ever had and am tasked with giving myself grace.
For I am and have been in so much pain and for the most part unless you’ve gotten really close or seen my patterns you wouldn’t have any idea. I have always tried to carry it alone, anything else has felt like I’m feeling sorry for myself, asking for too much, grandiose to want to be seen, embarrassing, shameful, and a whole host of other things.
My mind is so scattered all the time I can barely breathe, and no I can’t tell a story any longer that I have caused this or that it’s even plain old ordinary adhd. That’s bullshit. My abuse was immense and intense and I have shielded everyone from it by becoming my own rescuer and trying to bring others along with me.
But sooner or later that river of hurt was always going to rise up. Now my question is what do I do with it? Raft it? That would be appropriate as I remember my adventurous teen self on the Rogue River. I wondered often how I went from being so adventurous to later being so anxious, and the answer is very simple. I had nothing to lose at that time, and no connection or value to myself.
It wouldn’t have mattered if I lived or died. That painful thought haunted me and through me into a 4 year long battle with my own body as I struggled and feared death. That was the first step in my awakening I suppose. Becoming aware enough of myself to realize if I died or got married or any of it I didn’t feel like one person would be there supporting me.
So of course I clambered to be loved and chosen and belong in a family as quickly as possible. What kind of expectations have I had for myself that I could shame myself for that.
I was supposed to have developed into an adult and it is assumed I’d be able to securely attach. Why wouldn’t I? Because you have never seen what is beneath the surface. I love hard to try and heal it. That’s what I do. I stay open and trying no matter how many mistakes to try and heal it the right way, rather than merely exist.
I deserve to thrive not to just exist, but if you had any idea the amount of work it takes for me to have understood love and connection more than merely studying it, but to actually feel it and stay.
My expectations when there are any always seem too much, when in reality they are below the bare minimum. Someone willing to see, to try at least to understand, and be willing to keep doing the work.
I only leave when there is no attempt to understand made for me. If I am expected to do all the work alone, that’s a place I’m too familiar with and something I don’t want. I want to work with someone, nothing more and nothing less.
The first break was due to sexuality and that nearly killed me before counseling. Being divorced was unthinkable. And I tried everything and I mean everything for it to be different. I felt horrible.
The next break was because I kept trying to patch the holes fast so the ship didn’t sink. There were three kids on that ship, sinking was not an option.
The next break was an accumulation of grief so great I cannot even begin to explain to you, and the pregnancy failures/losses were only a piece of it. The unmet needs were immense. But the needs of my children at face value seemed to be met and I prioritized that in ways that no one may ever understand.
I was not seen or heard. And I don’t think marriage was ever able to mean to me what I wanted to believe it did. I didn’t really know what it meant beyond survival. You choose a safe and good person and you try and make it work is what I felt was realistic. Fearing all the time my wanting and needing and very dreams were too much.
So that’s what I did. I had a dream. My dream was to have a fulfilling and safe partnership, and to be able to have a baby in the sexuality that felt like home, while my kids were still young enough to appreciate that, before beginning a second life. Perhaps I thought we would feel more like a family.
I wanted to be a family, as a lesbian woman, have a healthy partnership, and be invested in that dream with courage and enthusiasm. That is my dream.
I want to be seen and understood and asked about things too. How I feel, what I want, what I need, and what my life has been like for me.
What do we do when we can’t get what we want? Well I can only answer for me. I became it. I became interested in peoples stories their whole story beneath the surface. I still wanted that for me.
To be seen and noticed and appreciated not for what I do or provide, but for the whole story of who I am.
And I will concede it’s possible that maybe even as that was happening I couldn’t even see or feel it because I was moving too quickly.
My brain is in pain. It hurts to be this scattered. It’s harmful to me. So for now I will try and understand this pain and find ways to relieve it so I can carve the dreams I deserve and want and stay the course I choose, and do that from a place that’s using my knowing.
Right now just please hold me in your thoughts because I am in pain.
Always
C