More on identity

And so much time was spent living up to that forced identity: the performer, the responsible one, the one no one had to worry about, that that’s who I became, or what I tried to live, albeit uncomfortably.,

There are the significant ways we’re handed our identities — you must want these things, you must have these personality traits, you must do this with your life — but something that hit me recently is that this is also done in less substantial ways that can defintiely shape our opinion of ourselves.

You’re a lot.

You’re too direct.

You’re a mess.

And our heads hang down in shame.

Hmmm. It’s hard out there in the world some days. We all get put in situations where it’s difficult not to come unglued. Just yesterday, I was out on some errands, peacefully driving along when some very important person felt the need to pass me on the left, in the turning lane, and get back in front of me. This wasn’t a highway, just a four-lane neighborhood road. Has anyone else noticed that no one cares to be courteous while driving anymore? I think everyone is struggling at least a little. Clearly, the driver who pulled this stunt forgot they’re not the only person in the world with somewhere to be. They did a dangerous and careless thing. I wanted to take a photo of their tag number and call the police. That would’ve been quite karen-y of me, so I didn’t. I don’t like that I can be reactive like that, but I can and sometimes am. I can’t stand an injustice.

I had a hell of a travel day the other day. My energy was whacked out from the beginning and just got worse as the day went on and it was noticeable. It started badly, was l o n g, and ended with a desperate prayer for a new outlook when I woke. I’m lucky that my prayer was answered. I wrote in my journal the next morning:

we don’t do this work so we can sit at home and feel good about ourselves

we do this work so we can use it when we need it.

Things had settled way down. But the day before, I thought I might collapse and just cry at several points throughout it. I eventually did and was able to identify the emotions that had put me in such a vulnerable state. But I had to dig for them. I had to work at identifying what made me feel fragile and unable to handle a travel day from hell like someone who has experienced travel days from hell at least a couple hundred times. Why was I a mess? Because I didn’t feel safe, because I was scared I would be hurt somehow. I was insecure and unable to see that I could handle whatever came my way. I can sometimes forget that I am a capable person.

These are such primal emotions and such old information. We don’t always know where either is coming from. Why am I scared of a United ticket counter agent who is giving me attitude? Why am I giving attitude back? Why am I mad at a restaurant menu because it doesn’t suit me? Why do I take it all so personally?

Well, there are a million reasons why that don’t need to be named here.

But I judge myself so severely for my discomfort and resulting prickliness. Then I spiral deeper. Now is when I remember what Angela, the therapist I did the trauma intesive with said: Slow down. I have to remind myself that I am human. And keep doing it over and over, trying to forgive my constant imperfection, and guide myself back to a more graceful state. I get frustrated when I forget to do what she said to do until days later. Maybe the gap will lessen.

When I have those days, when I can’t quite keep it together because shit keeps falling apart, I can develop a false narrative through that judgment with which I learned to blanket myself and yes, the judgment of others — That I’m negative, that I’m too forceful, that I’m too direct, that I’m too anything .

We’ve all had experiences with gaslighters, stonewallers, those who could help but don’t, or just downright oblivious people who seem to have come on assignment from the pain-in-the-ass squad to make things hard and then act like we’re the ones with the problem. They tell us we’re wrong for having negative emotions about their actions and saying so. They say we’re angry, we’re volatile. They don’t want to look at how we got there. I know I’m responsible for my emotions and actions, but there are times when removing myself from the situation isn’t possible and I have to do the best I can with what I’ve got and it doesn’t go quite right. Y’all dig what I’m saying? So, regardless of what got me to my breaking point, I beat myself up before anyone else gets the chance. If they do take the chance, it just deepens the hole.

My therapist told me yesterday, while I was talking to her about this identity thing and my hard day(s) that being feisty isn’t the same as being abusive. She said “You’ve been feisty your whole life. You had to be. That isn’t something to be ashamed of. You not only survived, you thrived. You’ve thrived as an artist, as a creative, as a mother, as a sister — Hold your head up and be proud of that. You’re not too much and don’t even think about disappearing any part of yourself for any reason. You’re not too much. That day was too much.”

I think about how I was never allowed not to be in full possession of myself when I was a child. I had to take care of myself in so many ways, and some of you will understand what I mean when I say this: I was never allowed not to know something. I don’t know wasn’t an acceptable answer. Not when it came to my thoughts, explaining my actions, or elucidating my wants and desires, which of course I couldn’t do because no one showed me that language. I couldn’t be a child because I had to KNOW. Children don’t always know. I was a highly stressed little person who never measured up. The measuring stick wasn’t made for me. It was made for adults. So how does that play out in my adult life? Oh, I’m in charge, y’all.

At the first hint of chaos, I start to figure it all out for everyone because I’m supposed to have the answers. I’m supposed to be in control. Things are supposed to be in order. When I can’t know it all or keep it all under control for everyone, I fall apart with unworthiness and shame. That sounds harsh, but when I dig down into it, there it is.

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I try to remember to let my softer side take charge now that I’m not back there anymore. I remind myself all the time that I’m not back there anymore and that I have the strength to take care of myself. But my body still doesn’t quite know I’m not. When I perceive a threat, my vision narrows, I am in the scary hole of uncertainty, and must fight my way out. That might sound familiar too. I’m grateful that we are finally living in a culture of healing. I’m certainly benefiting from every modality I’ve tried in some way or another and want very much to become a self-actualized person who never becomes rattled and lives in serenity every moment. I’m trying. For instance, I’m working my way through a mindfulness-based mind fitness course that has helped me begin to learn to keep my physical wits about me when I’m in a possibly combustive situation instead of sinking into a negative somatic response. But I haven’t graduated and I’m not living in serenity and calm every moment yet. Not even close. I’m so grateful for the minutes in which I can find that sort of peace. But I have to be forgiven for being imperfect and stumbling as I try to walk this walk.

By me first.

New work I made Monday. I call them the lady flowers.

When we grow up around judgmental people, we become judgmental people. When we hear harsh words about ourselves we internalize them and that becomes the voice we hear — you’re a lot, you’re too much, you’re too too too not not not — my inner critic is so harsh that I will do things like sink into worry about not being nice enough in every random encounter and will wake up in the night worried that I haven’t been. Such approval seeking. Such self-abandonment every single second. Such an over-developed sense of responsibility and focus on what others are doing and how its affecting me. Such reacting instead of acting. Such dependence and fear of being left. And here’s the kicker: such seeking of insecurity to make sure I stay in the cycle. I’d like to enjoy my time and experience it as the gift it is. Yet I still have such neurosis.

I’ve got that reality check in my mind. I keep working at this, and I’m coming to terms with what I am and what I’m not, what is accurate and what is false, and I’m beginning not worry so much about what others think of me and am instead spending a LOT more time on what I think of me. I’m on the path to healing, to self-acceptance, to being able to find that serenity that I’ve been seeking so long. I’m failing miserably and I’m going to fail and fail some more. I’m going to remember not to judge myself if fall into perfectionism and expect everything to go right, which means my way, (that one is a big one on my list of issues) and learn to lovingly catch myself, and learn to do it quicker so that it’s like a reflex, and get myself back on track at the same time. I’m also going to try not to judge that crazy driver, and instead wish them peace and safety, and know that I too have been a self-centered person who acted as if she was the only person in the world who had anywhere to be.

Like at the airport the other day.

Like we all do.

Peace and love,

Allison

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