I don’t have to do it all by myself. Why is that concept so hard for me to grasp? It seems so simple, so straightforward. Where, along my journey, did I lose sight of it? When did I so drastically shut the idea out of my thoughts? It’s a thought that’s been tugging at the edges of my mind for awhile now, and it’s finally starting to become a little clearer as I start to try to redefine my healing journey in order to include someone else in it.
It’s true; I shouldn’t have to face it all alone. Yet, throughout my journey so far I’ve done everything I can to cut off the possibility of accepting any help.
I know where it started. There came a point where I was tired of sinking into that deep pit of self-denial and self-deceit. I had been hiding from what had happened, dissociating from it, convincing myself it had all happened to some other poor lost soul. I remember feeling so sorry for ‘that girl that all those horrible things happened to’. But deep down, I was crying out to face it. Somewhere I knew that if I were to ever really get past it I’d need to accept that that poor girl was me and I’d have to deal with it. But, I was scared. It was so much easier to pretend it wasn’t really there. That little voice inside wasn’t strong enough to be heard and so that poor girl just sat and hoped that maybe if she just waited long enough, someone else would come along and save her; face it all for her, and fix it all. And so I sat, waiting for someone to save me. And no one came.
Eventually, I did hear that little voice, and when I finally went looking to find where it came from, I was disgusted by that small, weak little corner of my mind that actually thought I could passively sit back and make it somebody else’s responsibility to hunt down my demons and tame them for me. So I took a step, and then another, and another, all the while constantly reminding myself that if I ever expected to be whole again, I had to pick up the pieces one by one. No one was going to do it for me; it was my fight. MY life, MY body, MY mind, MY heart – it was time for me to reclaim it all and take responsibility for my own healing.
And so I did.
I wrote letters to myself. I forced myself to face every horror one by one; essentially reliving in stark detail all the wrongs that had been done to me. I uncovered a lot of memories that I didn’t even know were there, and it was painful, but it was necessary. I did what I needed to do in order to face the longest, hardest struggle of my life.
And I’m still struggling. I’ve won a lot of myself back, but it’s far from over. I still have a long battle ahead of me, and on one hand I’m so terribly terribly tired of doing it alone. I so badly want to reach out and grab an extra handful of hope here and there from someone so caring and willing to do what it takes to help me through the next steps of my journey.
On the other hand, I’m paralyzed with fear. Two forms of fear, really. There’s the simple fear – the one where I reach out and accept help, learn to thrive on it and then it disappears and I’m left on my own again. But then there’s the stronger fear. The one that’s probably not really any more complicated but the difficulty I have in describing it makes it feel more complex, more vague. It’s hard to address and overcome a fear that you can’t really describe, so I have to try.
The thing is, a huge part of my recovery thus far has been learning to love myself and accept myself again. It’s been one of my biggest hurdles and I’m still struggling like hell with it. As I’ve progressed in my journey, there have been times of great progress – huge strides of trudging through quickly and concisely – and there have been times of drought, where it felt like it was all going nowhere yet if I could look hard enough I could see and feel the baby steps I was slowly taking. At the slow times, it was really hard to keep faith in myself. It took a long time to come to peace with it and not get angry with myself. I had to, and still have to, keep reminding myself that everyone heals in their own way, at their own pace, and that above all I need to be patient and gentle with myself, and the next step will come when I’m ready for it. It was one of the hardest lessons for me to learn, and I still catch myself berating my own efforts – if I worked harder I could be further, I must just be too weak to handle it, etc… I’ve mostly got it under control now. I find it easier to just go with the flow and let everything run its course and above all be patient with myself, and learn to love myself unconditionally.
So what does that have to do with this fear? Well, to put it as simply as possible, I fear that once I’m sharing the journey with someone else, I’ll feel more pressured to show results and move faster. Not that I’ll feel pressure from the other person, but that I’d put more pressure on myself to not disappoint them. In other words, I’ll feel that I have more than just myself to answer to, and if I feel like I’m letting them down I’ll be more hard on myself than is healthy, which will breed anger. I don’t like letting people down, especially those who care enough to want to help me, and once I get impatient with myself I don’t know how I’ll react to it.
I’m afraid my frustration will lead to lashing out, or backward steps; neither of which I can afford.
I’m just so tired of standing on what feels like the very edge of sanity; carefully picking through to see where I can step without losing it completely. It feels like one false move will set me back to the beginning and I can’t do this all again, it’s too much.
It’s true; I shouldn’t have to face it all alone. Yet, throughout my journey so far I’ve done everything I can to cut off the possibility of accepting any help.
I know where it started. There came a point where I was tired of sinking into that deep pit of self-denial and self-deceit. I had been hiding from what had happened, dissociating from it, convincing myself it had all happened to some other poor lost soul. I remember feeling so sorry for ‘that girl that all those horrible things happened to’. But deep down, I was crying out to face it. Somewhere I knew that if I were to ever really get past it I’d need to accept that that poor girl was me and I’d have to deal with it. But, I was scared. It was so much easier to pretend it wasn’t really there. That little voice inside wasn’t strong enough to be heard and so that poor girl just sat and hoped that maybe if she just waited long enough, someone else would come along and save her; face it all for her, and fix it all. And so I sat, waiting for someone to save me. And no one came.
Eventually, I did hear that little voice, and when I finally went looking to find where it came from, I was disgusted by that small, weak little corner of my mind that actually thought I could passively sit back and make it somebody else’s responsibility to hunt down my demons and tame them for me. So I took a step, and then another, and another, all the while constantly reminding myself that if I ever expected to be whole again, I had to pick up the pieces one by one. No one was going to do it for me; it was my fight. MY life, MY body, MY mind, MY heart – it was time for me to reclaim it all and take responsibility for my own healing.
And so I did.
I wrote letters to myself. I forced myself to face every horror one by one; essentially reliving in stark detail all the wrongs that had been done to me. I uncovered a lot of memories that I didn’t even know were there, and it was painful, but it was necessary. I did what I needed to do in order to face the longest, hardest struggle of my life.
And I’m still struggling. I’ve won a lot of myself back, but it’s far from over. I still have a long battle ahead of me, and on one hand I’m so terribly terribly tired of doing it alone. I so badly want to reach out and grab an extra handful of hope here and there from someone so caring and willing to do what it takes to help me through the next steps of my journey.
On the other hand, I’m paralyzed with fear. Two forms of fear, really. There’s the simple fear – the one where I reach out and accept help, learn to thrive on it and then it disappears and I’m left on my own again. But then there’s the stronger fear. The one that’s probably not really any more complicated but the difficulty I have in describing it makes it feel more complex, more vague. It’s hard to address and overcome a fear that you can’t really describe, so I have to try.
The thing is, a huge part of my recovery thus far has been learning to love myself and accept myself again. It’s been one of my biggest hurdles and I’m still struggling like hell with it. As I’ve progressed in my journey, there have been times of great progress – huge strides of trudging through quickly and concisely – and there have been times of drought, where it felt like it was all going nowhere yet if I could look hard enough I could see and feel the baby steps I was slowly taking. At the slow times, it was really hard to keep faith in myself. It took a long time to come to peace with it and not get angry with myself. I had to, and still have to, keep reminding myself that everyone heals in their own way, at their own pace, and that above all I need to be patient and gentle with myself, and the next step will come when I’m ready for it. It was one of the hardest lessons for me to learn, and I still catch myself berating my own efforts – if I worked harder I could be further, I must just be too weak to handle it, etc… I’ve mostly got it under control now. I find it easier to just go with the flow and let everything run its course and above all be patient with myself, and learn to love myself unconditionally.
So what does that have to do with this fear? Well, to put it as simply as possible, I fear that once I’m sharing the journey with someone else, I’ll feel more pressured to show results and move faster. Not that I’ll feel pressure from the other person, but that I’d put more pressure on myself to not disappoint them. In other words, I’ll feel that I have more than just myself to answer to, and if I feel like I’m letting them down I’ll be more hard on myself than is healthy, which will breed anger. I don’t like letting people down, especially those who care enough to want to help me, and once I get impatient with myself I don’t know how I’ll react to it.
I’m afraid my frustration will lead to lashing out, or backward steps; neither of which I can afford.
I’m just so tired of standing on what feels like the very edge of sanity; carefully picking through to see where I can step without losing it completely. It feels like one false move will set me back to the beginning and I can’t do this all again, it’s too much.
