I have been questioning whether it is a good idea to start this new blog in the middle of a hormonal shitstorm… when my “don’t-give-a-fucks” are at dangerously high levels. The conclusion I came to is this: it is the perfect time. Not because it is pretty, rational, or even presentable. But, rather because it is not. This shitstorm is one of the worst I’ve had in awhile. It has felt a little like holding onto a bar of a merry-go-round in a tornado. It has been all I can do just to hold on, let alone hold it together and make important life decisions, or hell, make unimportant life decisions.
It has been something like this… so much dust in my eyes that I can’t see anything. Spinning around so fast that I can’t focus on just one thing for it to take a recognizable shape. Grabbing so tightly to that bar that there is no energy left for anything else. So dizzy that I can’t make sense of anything, for myself and especially for anyone else. Fighting such a strong urge to just let go. Wondering if that is what I am supposed to do? Scared to let go because what if I don’t land safely, or worse, what if it is the last landing I ever make.
So of course, rationally (if I were slightly capable of rational thought right now) it would be the worst time to start this. But, I can’t help thinking that maybe “this” is what I need to do right now to make the spinning slow down just a bit. That, and I really want to be honest and vulnerable here. Those things are terrifying for me. I have spent my whole life being told to button up and keep my messy emotions and thoughts to myself, no one else wants to hear them, or get dirtied up by them. No one else wants to feel bad because I do or because there is nothing they can (or are willing to) do. And, oh, how badly I wanted to be liked, and wanted, and accepted, and loved. So I made it my gospel to try to be likable. To be what other people wanted and expected of me. The problem with that, at it’s core, is that I can never truly know what that is. It will always be my interpretation, perception or anticipation.
It took me a really long time to understand that the best people, the people who are my people, want me to be me. And the really good people, the best people, know life is hard and messy sometimes and they don’t make me feel flawed, or broken, or wrong for having a bad reaction, a bad day, or less than a positive attitude all of the time. They know I am an imperfect human because they are aware that they too are an imperfect human.
But it is still scary, it is still a process. It still feels like it did when I was a kid standing at the end of the diving board so high over the pool below, so temped to turn around and climb back down that ladder even though I knew that wasn’t an option. I must jump. But that little girl, the one who so badly wants to be liked and accepted, wanted and loved, knows that when she does jump, she will be met with people who still want her to be the scared little girl on the edge of the diving board. And she is scared of their disapproval, and scared of losing their love. She is scared of triggering their fear or their shame, scared of their embarrassment.
This is why the middle of a shitstorm is the perfect time. There is very little energy left for constructing, maintaining and enforcing the many walls and barriers that have been built to protect myself from the outside world. It is the best time to break free of them, when my defenses are weak. The best time to be honest and vulnerable is when my “don’t-give-a-fucks” are high, because there is less fear and resistance I have to fight through. Because the first jump is always the scariest, and if I can just get started, possibly I will be able to continue.