The Risk of Speaking

When I was a child I don’t remember being comforted often when I would cry or was fearful. The few times I recall my Mother comforting me, would have been when my father was on a drunken tear, or we were on the run. When I was twelve and my Mother was dying I never really cried in front of anyone. Not even at her funeral. I tried hard to never complain. I was praised often for being strong.

Even before this, in my family, openly expressed emotion other than rage and anger was never safe. Rebuked for being pouty and weak, tears, pain and fear were to be kept hidden. Eggshells must be walked to keep this peace.

Then came the praise. ‘You’re so strong. We never have to worry about you, you just get on with it.’

No one helped me or showed me then, that sorrow, grief, fear and  vulnerability are all acceptable and worthy of support.

This burying of emotion became a lifelong destructive habit.

Fast forward through added trauma of rape and abuse in my teens.

I can tell you with clear eyed accuracy what these events have done to me. But the open vulnerability, expressed pain, tears – that was only expressed alone, often late into the night. Curled in a ball, howling, searing pain, hot uncontrollable tears. The breaking moments often resulted in self harm, cutting, hitting myself until raw and bruised. Praying for death but not wanting to hurt anyone who might be affected by it. Eating until I was numb. Trying to gain control. Manic in achieving what no one believed I could. 

But… ‘Hey, you’re so strong, look at you! You moved forward, away from it.’ Physically yes, but those monsters are beaten deep down into me.

No one saw me cry, or held me through the pain of giving my son up for adoption. Praised and congratulated for making such a wonderful decision, a needed and good decision. I’ve never regretted it, but as any mother knows the pain of separation from your child rips through you and you are not sure how you will survive.

More praise for my strength, my fortitude and my ability to make something of myself. This, I had read as, to not crack in front of anyone, to never really let anyone know that I don’t have it together, I am in pain or that I am unsure of what I can do.

Praise for my ability to be such a great open support for others. Always a shoulder, an ear, a firm unwavering hug as one would melt down and open up. I never blink, condemn or walk away from anyone in these moments. I give freely what I crave so deeply.

I cry in movies, tv shows, certain books have opened flood gates and being witness to other people’s tragedies can bring heartfelt tears quickly. I have the added good fortune of being an empath through and through. Often chided for being so affected by the things and people around me.

More praise for how open I am about trauma and my journey. The wonderment at what I’ve built, how far I’ve come, my ability to always have a survival plan when shit goes sideways.

Plaudits for being able to describe the inner battles with my mental demons and the hard painful darkness where my mental health battles take place. Yet- it is not allowable for anyone to see the physical release, the raw vulnerability of my emotions.

On the rare occasion the actual emotion bubbles out ( not the description, or the story after the fact), it is met often with

‘Don’t cry, I can’t handle that right now.’

‘You’ll figure it out, you always do.’

‘It’s not so bad.’

‘You’re strong, you’ll get through it.’

Well meaning most times, but reinforces in my head that I am not allowed this vulnerability, it (I) will be rejected.

My fear is that I will be abandoned, viewed as ugly, unhealed and unworthy.

The more praise I get for who I present that I am, what I do and my strength and compassion, the more stifled screaming in the shower, pinching and scratching takes place in the dark.

A few years back, there was a moment in time, that by circumstance and a series of things happened, triggered emotional responses I could not control. Significant losses coupled with burgeoning self realization cracked wide a firmly welded shut box of yuk. By some strange timing/alinement there happened to be a witness to these moments. It was someone I did not know well, but seemed to connect quickly to. At the time this person seemed to offer a non judgmental, safe friendship. I was not judged or stifled, I was validated and allowed the space to express. I felt like I had been heard and seen and not found to be disgusting. I had experienced a moment of safety.

This lasted a short time, as my fear was soon realized that this person, while kind at the time, eventually saw me as damaged and ugly… too much. I believe now, that in the instances I allowed my self the humanness, the vulnerability of raw expression in their presence, they felt trapped and forced to support. 

There was a cold abrupt ending to this. I was too much. I had heard later from another, I had been actually seen as a triggering shrew. This was never said directly to me, just cold silence- no matter how I had tried to make amends. Falling into the old patterns of apologizing for my human failings and pain. Desperate to reclaim my value and worth despite the ugliness I could not hide. Again my monsters read this as proof, I am a helper not allowable to be helped. I have not openly wept in front of another person about how I am affected by life since then. 

Please note- I am not relaying this to paint the other as intentionally hurtful or cruel, they too are to be given the grace of being human. I realistically understand most reactions (as are mine) are personal and a preset in that own person’s journey and I am not belittling this. However this is told from my perception and with lack of communication to understand the other’s point of view I can only operate from my own experience.

Fast forward a little more. I still share my journey, analytical, smooth writing, story sharing, describing emotion in order to connect with others ( a safe, removed way of partial vulnerability). Still open and unblinking in my support of others. Ready with space, a hug, acceptance of their dark, steady while their tears flow. I champion that expression and vulnerability to be allowable, acceptable and supported.

Those who’ve known me longest still praise the stoic. I’ve set up cycles where if my live emotion is detected it must be solved immediately to avoid inconvenience and discomfort.

After my most recent experiences in trying to find acceptance for my human reactions I collapsed deeper into distrust that I could find that safe space. I have been working on changing this, on being ok to risk that openness, but trust is a gossamer thread. When you open up and allow your vulnerability to be see by anyone and it is rejected, ignored, derided or completely trampled on, intensionally or not, it is devastating.

I asked once, why, when I ask for support or help I feel that I’m often denied the space, or my need is minimized. I was told I am at fault because I have set up the view that I can move forward and get through anything on my own. So no one believes I may need more.

My own survival techniques have failed me here- but my acting must be stellar.

I know there are beautiful souls who would offer me this grace and have. But the minute I perceive that they may allow me this, I freeze, stiffen and do not allow more than dry words to express where/how I am. No tears, no confusion, no real time release. No chance of rejection if I don’t allow it.

I don’t know how to change this. I don’t know if I have it in me to risk that part again. Yet I know how vitally important this is.

I am unafraid of seeing another’s deep wounds, but deeply afraid of showing the live versions of my own. I am working on this. I am hoping to be better at choosing the places where I will be safe. But for now this is my safest place. Flat descriptive words for sharing. Loud music and the shower for expressing.

I’m grateful to those who see me as safe and are willing to share. It is an honour to be a part of the journey. I’m grateful to those who read, converse with me and tell me they have space for me, when and if I am ever ready. But for now the risk of speaking triggers an immediate danger response I have yet to figure out how to cut the wires to.