Mo’ Time, Mo’ Feels

Here we go again, another day of feeling…

After some confronting conversations with some close friends last night, I’m feeling very light. My honesty and candour with these close girlfriends has enriched our already long and heartfelt friendships – at least as far as I can tell.

It’s always hard to know how they’ve experienced the evening, and I remember constantly being careful to ensure they didn’t feel that I was putting anything on them.

Which leads me to today’s feels;

Today I am unsure about why I surrogate peoples feelings all the time.

  • Why am I so afraid of offending people?
  • Why do I feel it’s my responsibility to surrogate peoples feelings for them?
  • Why am I frightened to confront people when I feel they’ve hurt me? Or destabilised the emotions I held for them?

At a guess, I would imagine it has to do with the emotional abuse I grew up around.

Adults who confided their problems and emotions to a teenage me.
Adults whose emotions were so out of control, anything would set them off.
Adults who created a “walking-on-eggshell” home environment everyday.
Adults who made their very adult problems public to their developing children.
Adults who manifested an environment where feelings equalled drama/violence/pain.
Adults who didn’t have the tools to emotionally support their children.
Adults who didn’t understand the idea of a ‘Childs voice’.
Adults who unfortunately didn’t know any better.

It seems I have an innate fear of upsetting people from an installed fear that it will result in pain for me. That if I upset someone they’ll come bearing down on me like a tonne of bricks and I’ll feel trapped under the weight of their emotions.

Instead I internalise.

I’d rather work through my emotions alone – and incredibly slowly – than risk rocking the boat with a friend/colleague/family member.

Thankfully last night I was able to set some of those emotions free. I was able to safely communicate how I felt and my friends took it really well.

Last night I didn’t have to surrogate.

Turns out, I don’t have to surrogate tomorrow either.

Today, this is how I feel;

  • I feel grateful:
    • To the amazing friends I have who create and hold safe spaces for me.
    • To my amazing boyfriend who holds an infinite amount of space and time for me.
    • To the process of time and healing.
    • To the fortunate life circumstances I was born into which has allowed for access to free mental healthcare (if you’re based in Australia, we have this).
    • For my health, the love of my family and friends and for the daily chance to grow and create newness.
  • I feel nervous
    • About my next move. Will I be able to work through my feelings or will I continue to eat them? Will I choose healing over convenience and a quick fix?
    • About parenting my inner child. Will she be open to feeling again? Will she listen to me? Does she know this is the only way forward?

Well, I guess she does, as she is me. But I can feel that she’s scared and really doesn’t want to feel pain again – she feels like she’s had her share and shouldn’t have to feel anymore pain.

I have an appointment with my psychologist tonight, so I’ll keep you posted.

 

 

Why I fucking hate my birthday…

It’s that time of the year again.

The celebration of my birthday.

The actual worst time of the year from me.

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Despite the grinch-like sentiment, I can’t remember the last time I looked forward to this day. Memories are filled with childhood anticipation, parties that ended in tears and – as I grew up – the overwhelming reminder each year that I’m far more sensitive than I care to acknowledge every day.

My birthday is my most emotionally irrational day. I care when people forget, despite my adult approach of ‘its not a big deal’, ‘who cares’ and ‘it’s just another day’.

It is a showcase of those who I expected to remember and who did, those I hoped would remember and who didn’t, those randoms who remembered because social media reminded them, those older friends who have it in their calendar and those family members who essentially own a card factory and sweetly never forget anyone (bless their cotton socks).

The day stings every year. God forbid I go as far as to have a party.

I didn’t plan an 18th or a 21st. My parents forced a 21st on me, that I eventually invited friends to on the day of – because I REALLY wasn’t into it.

My 30th is next week, and I’ve planned a SMALL party for tomorrow and the anxiety is real. What if no-one comes and I’m left feeling irrelevant?

What if people don’t come because they have better things to do? It’ll sting like it did at my 6th birthday when my mum arranged a private room at the local pool. We had snacks, balloons and a sectioned off portion of the pool – and no-one came. It turned out someone else had their birthday on the same day and everyone went there instead.

I suppose, all these years later, I can’t shake that feeling of rejection. The feeling of rejection that now veils my birthday every year. That sting that lands every time I have any expectations around this day. I’d rather treat it like any other day and be happy with anything better than a normal day.

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I’m not great at remembering others birthdays either, and it seems I’ve been infecting others with the rejection I felt, unintentionally. It took years of active effort to care/remember other peoples birthdays and make them feel special – its still an active fight against an internal wound, every time I choose to do it.

To anyone out there who I’ve hurt by not remembering their special day – I’m sorry, it wasn’t you, it was me.

I’m not a birthday person, not sure I even will be.

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