Anger and Shame and an Anxious Brain

Guided Shadow work has brought me to a place of reckoning. I am trying now to reconcile things within myself that were once survival mechanisms. Some I believed to be positive traits others are chains around me. 

To survive as a child I needed to be helpful, good and quiet. I needed to read the people around me to anticipate their needs so it stayed safe and I would be welcome.

I learned that I could belong if I was kind, helpful and did what I could to aid others.

As I grew I really bought into the idea of ‘be what you seek.’ Bought in so deeply that it is now a reflex. 

I do not want this to come across as a complaint necessarily, it is a twisted mess at the moment, of roses and shit, as all gardens are.

I am an empath, I believe I would have been no matter my upbringing. Perhaps if things had been different I would have had better boundaries, better ways of guarding my energy, heart and spirit. But I had the upbringing I did. I was the youngest in a troubled family. I was easily lost or ignored, considered a blight. There was trauma (stories for another time), and there was some very normal childhood things. 

I learned early on how to be a pleaser. If I did as my brother asked, he wouldn’t beat me up. If I did as my father asked maybe he wouldn’t drink and we could breath. If I did as my mother asked, maybe her pain would lessen. 

I did not ask for much, although others in my family and their remembrances will tell you that I was a spoiled child who had everything. 

My voice was encouraged by mentors in middle school- there were teachers who saw me, heard me through the words I wrote back then. The people who “loved me most’ weren’t interested. This has become a theme I have allowed through out my life.

I am not saying I do not have people around me who care and love me. I do.

But I have set up some ineffective communication.

I easily give up or make small, things that interest me to not upset the boat or make anyone uncomfortable. 

I have a hard time with anger, I think long and hard about the why and my response, I want to be articulate about the issue and not fight dirty. To the point I will make up the other person’s reasoning about their part in things. Or I will throw myself on the proverbial sword and take the blame for everything. 

I will forgive easily and more often than I should, especially to those who may have thrown me a moment of kindness, or momentarily seen something important to me, but then comes much more coolness and shade. So I work harder.

I had always believed that if I showed enough compassion, love, interest and support to those around me, that I would receive the same. This is not so.

The amusing part is that my professional life is also set up to be of service, offering solace, space, insight and care. And it works well, I feel fulfilled and successful here. 

It is in, what I hoped was my tightest safety net, where I feel tired, depleted, sad and fearful.

In initially trying to teach myself new communication boundaries and skills, I have been told I am too much, too different, too needy, too opinionated and ‘why so many new things?”

After an initial rush of this new found moment of power, I shrank, I gave up so much of myself that I had just discovered.

Trying to find a voice to be firm has been one of the hardest things I have ever tried to do. To try to let it be known that there are things that have deeply wounded me is a place I dipped a toe into only to be cut off with cold silence. Reenforcing that worthlessness I felt when I was a child and was ignored or cast aside. 

Am I a victim?

Only of myself, my expectations and my survival mechanisms. 

I had always figured (as do most of us) that everyone else’s brain works like mine. That most people think of how their actions affect others before they act. That most people want to care for and see the best for those around them and be there to help. That people will put in the effort without being asked. That people would benefit from a collective (we all talk so much about finding our ‘tribe’, ‘village’ and ‘coven’), a place to feel safe, seen and be encouraged to grow.

I want(ed) this so much. I had put blinders on to the people themselves. I led with my heart. I thought that new adventures, learning and energy was coming. I thought I’d found my spiritual kin. I thought I had a foundation from which to spring. I thought/hoped that I could be enough to make it all fit because I craved it to be so.

I want to say that the disconnect was swift and unexpected. But in looking back, it was an illusion from the beginning. It wasn’t the party only crowd of my younger years. I believed that a mature, magical, creative community was going to come together. The kids would hang out- the adults could share and prepare meals together, lend a hand to whom ever needs it. Gently challenge each other to grow and learn. Times filled with laughter and conversation. But these are real people not characters that I write. The dream I had was never solid, it was after all a dream. 

There was a short time with a mix of old and new that was of shared creative, shared meals, shared laughs, and for such a brief time I felt safe to share pieces of myself to people in the flesh, not the quasi anonymous internet or page. I say quasi anonymous because there are very few who intimately know me that will read this. Then came the shame.

Some did not like others, no matter how much I tried to show similarities, ways to connect and reassurance that all had a place. Some did not want to put in the effort. Some did not understand the place I come from, I had surpassed a point in my life I never thought I would get to and wanted to celebrate and bloom!  My intentions were misread, misunderstood and found to be intense. 

I did not know how to temper my joy, desire and excitement. Not since my days in theatre had I felt so inspired in a group of people. 

I feel shame that people are angry with me. I feel shame that others begun to see me as an intrusive monster. I feel shame that I was so easy to walk away from. I feel shame that I withdrew my interests and creativity from my focus. I feel shame now, that I am the only one who misses what was, could have been. At least the only one who has expressed it. I feel shame that I believed this could have been a reality. I feel shame that no one seems to think it matters that I am hurting and grieving these things I believed could be. I feel shame that I believed I held high importance as myself and worthy of understanding and patience. I feel shame I can’t articulate my anger. I feel shame that I have anger. I feel shame my anger only gets turned on myself. I feel shame I don’t trust that I am worthy and forgivable for having human strong emotions. I feel shame that I seem ungrateful for the support I get, because there is some, and it is beautiful, but the imbalance within leads me to focus on the imbalance outside. I feel shame that I worry that being angry will drive people away. I feel shame that I am lonely anyway because I am not being true to me. I feel shame that I worry about this so much. 

No toxic positivity here. This shit is dark. This shit is painful. This shit needs to be spoken. This shit is not to be pitied, but worked through, embraced and accepted .