Asking for what I want, whether it is from my work teams, life partner, my original family, my friends or my son is so very hard. I would even say that the pain I derive from implying wants and having the others not get what I actually mean is easier to bear. Not fair on any of parties involved, but much, much easier to swallow.
If I had a broken leg, pink eye, COVID, the flu, a migraine … you name it … I would have said just that and not spend one second trying to concoct a plausible disguise. But somehow, there has been so much shame around me just saying I am am having a bout of anxiety and/or depression and need a mental health break, I cannot meet right now.
Our fellow humans can be beautiful, inside and out. And when we connect with someone authentically it’s like a gorgeous symphony and life seems to fall into place. Our fellow humans are also vanity driven, they have agendas and act to further that rather than really connect. And when this is revealed, it hurts. Especially if you don’t see it coming.
My intention is always that and I put my best foot forward. I do understand, at a conscious level, that each and every one of us is fighting a hard battle and that, beyond a shadow of a doubt, everyone is doing the very best they can, in the moment, with what they have. That is, when the fire in me does not sweep me off my feet like a tornado and carries me to a land far, far away, where I am barely recognisable, even to myself.
I have always waited for a knight in shining armor to rescue me … from me. As a young child and then a troubled teenager, living in a head full of dreams and a home riveted by trauma, there was always a crack of hope in the darkness within, letting a light I could not precisely distinguish trickle in.
We are used to everyone talking at the very same time, louder and louder, trying to upstage each other in a race of our own making. When it is in fact the silence, the allowing of space and the real listening that will ever get us anywhere.