My heart is sore and tired from beating a rhythm of hope-but-what-if. I'm spun. Shook by the monster of insecurity that has reared it's fiery head. I haven't felt this since I was a teen, this whole body joy/hope/fear. It hurts. I'd forgotten. But this is me at the boundary of commitment when I don't have the faintest idea what commitment looks like or if it's welcome.
This is a Saturday Archives post from two years ago.
I met a family. Instant gut punch. They are amazing, and they have welcomed me into their unicorn-mermaid lair where I feel safe and whole. And most frightening, alive. I could fly apart at any minute. That's how alive I feel. They are a family, but they are not my family, which means access is limited. Which means I'm figuring out how not to regress into the Shawna that obsesses, interprets neutral as negative. The 12 year old me.
Image Credit
She was scared all the time, a feeling which holds no interest for me. I am done being afraid. I am done giving a single fuck except, somehow, I give all the fucks about this magical rainbow crew. And that's the vulnerability--that's the risk of making new friends.
I am a mega fan of slow and steady progress. Would someone tell that to my heart? It's jumping around in my chest ready to play Sam Smith and name stars. What is happening? What is happening? If this were about one person, I could understand, but this is more like my brain screaming at me, "This is what you've been looking for your whole life!"
Friendships come and go. I enter them aware they are permeable and impermanent. That is 36 year old Shawna of the Level Head speaking. The same woman who has curated her life carefully behind a wall of fear. What I mean to say is, to this point in my life, I have always reserved my excitement. Proceeded with caution. Turned and ran if I felt anything bordering on joy because joy can be taken from you.
I grew up believing what we love hurts us.
I believed this because the people I loved hurt me.
I'm not ready to slap the "l" word on what's happening for me now, but love is a good baseline for understanding the cruelty of my inner thoughts. My fear is telling me:
"You don't fit."
"You are annoying."
"They will think you are obsessive."
"You scare people away."
and even worse
"It will fall apart."
"You are going to be rejected."
"You don't deserve their affection."
I want to stab my brain with a q-tip. I know I am likable and deserving of affection. I don't need to be reassured constantly. I am a grown ass woman capable of keeping her shit together. But that does not make me impervious to insecurity. Again, forging new friendships is vulnerable. It means offering yourself for judgement, and when you want to the verdict to be in your favor, you do give a fuck and it will hurt if it goes the other way.
What am I doing about it? Aside from writing through it, I am breathing. I am practicing patience and gratitude. I am absolutely not freaking the fuck out inside and composing text messages in my head and not sending them because it would be overbearing. Nope. I, Shawna of the Level Head (but sans her wall of fear), am cool as a cucumber.
Or not. And if not, that's okay. Some risks are worth taking. Being rejected by this crew is one of them because for now, I'm accepted, and I've never felt more joy.
~~~
I teach blogging, expressive writing for traumatic release and recovery and host generative writing sessions at the Center for Creative Writing. Write with me!
honeyquill.com