There’s a knot where my emotions live. If I think about the knot it makes me want to cry. So every effort to write has been rather futile this last week. I reach for inspiration and the knot is like a lump of noodles clogging my drain… I mean brain
I’m not that great at grieving. If stuffing had a competitor at Thanksgiving it would be me. Generally my emotions only leak out in intimate small group settings where I feel really safe –and then some sort of emotional dam opens and I break down from bottling emotions that have been pent-up for ages, like a fine wine gone bad with bitterness. It’s a weepy snotty affair and I associate this with weakness.
So the way I protect myself from emotional hijacking is to lead the group and be a great listener. It’s a safer place –always being the strong one.
I realized the other day, after my third round of blisters from shingles in three months, something needs to give. I don’t want to live in this guarded place of protecting myself from hurt. All too often I stay subtlety detached, not wanting to get too close to people, because they might leave me or hurt me, so I hover at a healthy distance and inoculate myself from pain before it can catch me.
But it always finds me. I can’t hide from life. And if I’m honest, I hate this about myself. I don’t want to miss out on passion and laughter and joy to avoid discomfort and devastation.
I married Mr. Fun who wears his emotions on his sleeve and experiences high highs and low lows. And somehow I have allowed myself to live vicariously through his emotional life so don’t have to have my own.
I stand at a distance and remain the steady ship swimming through the churning seas. One is not better than the other, but I recognize the two together don’t equal a whole. Sometimes it’s just two broken pieces patched together and leaking.
I buy into the lie that I need to be the glue in my family. I imagine I wouldn’t be getting shingles if I let myself unravel a little bit more. I have become a secret control freak who only cries at other people’s stories.
You know something’s out of whack when you’re friend has a miscarriage and you are so upset she has to console you. This lovely friend came over last night to be there for me in my time of need and I remained dry eyed and stoic –where are my tears hiding?
So here’s my goal for the next few months –to let go and FEEL deeply. To not hide behind the laughs but to live them, to stop minimizing, and to go to the dark places in life recognizing that even there I am not alone.
If I say, “Surely the darkness will hide me and the light become night around me,” even the darkness will not be dark to you; the night will shine like the day, for darkness is as light to you. (Psalm 139:11-12)
For all of you covert Type A’s hiding behind being nice and steady and secretly overwhelmed up to their eyeballs –care to join me in this adventure?
4 comments
the Blah Blah Blahger
February 13, 2012 at 10:26 am (UTC -7)
This was SO me a few years back…and to some extent, still to this day, but I’ve learned some lessons.
First of all, at some point, the dam breaks (for you maybe it’s physical with those pesky shingles), but for me, it was a crying patch that lasted for two weeks after the death of a family dog that I didn’t even like (and it was the ugly cry, too, not sweet tears). I finally sought out a counselor. After our first meeting, she pegged me as the “strong one” who is always there for my friends but who never opens up and shares.
She gave me homework. I had to literally go and talk to three friends about my feelings. The next week, I had to ask them how they felt about me (trust me, getting their “lists” was a daunting task). The next week it was something else. It may sound funny, but I had always thought I was a great friend…this experience taught me I was only giving a part of myself to the people I loved. It’s connected us in deeper ways and my relationships are so much more authentic now.
And the best part is that now I have people to lean on in the yucky times in a more tangible way than before…and I never have to worry about the dam breaking ever again!
Sounds like you’re on a similar journey.
Best of luck!!!
Sam
February 16, 2012 at 11:43 am (UTC -7)
JJ,
It took me a few days to process everything you said. I had to ask my husband and myself some tough questions. It opened up a dam
I feel like God gives us these opportunities to confront the depths of our heart and we can either face them or hide.
Thank you for your insight. It really helped me look differently at my grief.
Hugs… Even though I only met you once, I would give you a big hug right now!
Sam
Sonia
February 13, 2012 at 10:49 am (UTC -7)
Of all things… a colonial disease to make your realize what’s going on inside. I feel your pain. I mean, do you feel your pain… wait… I understand. Been there. I’ll join your adventure as i struggle with the same issue.
Sam
February 16, 2012 at 11:52 am (UTC -7)
Thank you! It’s getting better. I don’t have any scabs on my face at the moment, though a few are still hiding in my nose.
You are right how God can take a girl who struggles to feel and then help her feel pain with an illness that attacks the nerves and creates pain.
Ahhhhhh… Much easier to just let it out the first time around. I’m working on emoting
Blessings,
Sam