The Reality of Things to Be
A temporary hiccup from the silence; some days you have to write things out and a written journal doesn't get your thoughts down quick enough...
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You know those moments when you feel exposed? Like truly, seriously, nakedly at risk? Those are the moments that make me feel the worst.
I have spent the entirety of my life caring for others: being the eldest kid has always made me protective of my siblings, I would try to bring school mates along with me and help them understanding concepts so they did well in their studies, even in nursing where my entire job is based around caring for others and ignoring what I need myself. But these last few months have shown me just what sort of awful repercussions are out there if I don't protect myself. One spends so much time making sure that others are looked after and safe and safeguarded that in those moments, you ignore the fact that every time you sneeze your back spasms, or the mild discomfort from where you scratched your cornea the other day, or the profound plugged-ness of your nose as you're clearly not 100% healthy. It's these moments that I shove what I need aside and instead turn to caring for others. Perhaps because it's easier.
By protecting and looking after others, I disconnect from what I need of myself. I don't have to think about what I'm afraid of, what I feel, or what I need. By putting people before myself, I can stop focusing on me. Some can see that as humility. Others see it as unintentional masochistic ignorance. I think today, it may have been slightly weighted to the latter.
Then comes that guy who you're crazy about.
When you have someone who sees you every day and you come to genuinely love and care for them, they pick up on what makes you hurt and where your weaknesses are. I can try to push what I need down, away, and out of sight, but when I try and do so, he looks me in the eye and scares me with an incredibly accurate reading. For someone to know me that well is really a terrifying thing. Why? Because it means that I can no longer hide behind my caring or my laughing or my work or my intelligence. I have to come to terms with the hard reality of 'somedays I hurt and I don't like hurting so I push it away behind my walls so no one else can see it'. I don't like that reality, but it's a thing so I have to come to terms with it. Right?
The trouble is when that one person, the one that you trust more than almost anyone, looks at that wall that you store all your pain, all your fears, all your bad memories behind, they can start to see through it. It starts small, reading your eyes, perceiving your facial expressions, but bit by bit it seems like that solid fortress is turned to glass bricks and, while distorted, that person can acquire a brief image under the surface of your protection. And its unbelievably terrifying. Everything that you don't want anyone to see, suddenly has the potential to be rifled through.
When it comes to those walls though, I honestly don't even know the specifics of what's behind there anymore, all I know is that it's dark and disgusting and murky and there are few things that I would less like to see than what is there. Because that's a place in Megan that has never been let out into the light. That which is hidden may not even be that bad; perhaps awful words others have said, painful moments of rejection, or scarring events that caused deep hurt... but they cannot be discounted for the damage that they have done. My wee introverted conundrum however, is that by locking them inside and not learning how to deal with them properly, they've festered, started to rot, and have brought me to pushing others away rather than inviting them in deeper. So I put the hurt on a shelf, walk out of the building, lock the door, and do my darndest to swallow the key. Healthy? No. Fast and devoid of emotional debate? You bet your arms it is.
And then he confronts me by understanding my expressions and reading into what I need, and I'm no longer solid and strong. I've got cracks in my armour, chinks in the glass palace that is cold and calculating and emotionless. By wriggling into my heart, I'm seeing the repressed feelings and crap that I've buried in that now translucent structure and am embarrassed by them. Because they seem to me to be pathetic and even worse, weak.
I've been forced to reflect on though, that because of the care that I've taken to establishing this until-now impenetrable fortress, I am very aware of how unstable this structure is. But it's the person that I trust more than almost anyone, that's the person who knows how best to look into that darkness. And he holds me and reminds me of the beauty in the world and the light that comes from those around us. Stating that 'weakness' isn't seen as weakness at all. It's openness and vulnerability (my favourite ever word. Stupid thing) and the realness of a relationship that is healthy and beautiful and in so many ways right. And because he is the person I trust implicitly, I know he won't abuse that or cause me grievous harm.
It still makes me want to scream and run away though, that someone might see me as something other than strong. I need to learn what it means to be okay with weakness and know that it will take an extraordinary amount of time to be truly satisfied with this new understanding of strength. I will learn to be okay with showing the bits under the walls and he and I will traverse that dank mire together, but until then, I'm in no rush. The wading through of bogs will come in it's own time, but for now I chose to continue to care for people while searching my heart for the small ways to let this blessing of a man into my exposure.
I have so far to go. But when considered intently, it's worth every bit of the journey.
I have spent the entirety of my life caring for others: being the eldest kid has always made me protective of my siblings, I would try to bring school mates along with me and help them understanding concepts so they did well in their studies, even in nursing where my entire job is based around caring for others and ignoring what I need myself. But these last few months have shown me just what sort of awful repercussions are out there if I don't protect myself. One spends so much time making sure that others are looked after and safe and safeguarded that in those moments, you ignore the fact that every time you sneeze your back spasms, or the mild discomfort from where you scratched your cornea the other day, or the profound plugged-ness of your nose as you're clearly not 100% healthy. It's these moments that I shove what I need aside and instead turn to caring for others. Perhaps because it's easier.
By protecting and looking after others, I disconnect from what I need of myself. I don't have to think about what I'm afraid of, what I feel, or what I need. By putting people before myself, I can stop focusing on me. Some can see that as humility. Others see it as unintentional masochistic ignorance. I think today, it may have been slightly weighted to the latter.
Then comes that guy who you're crazy about.
When you have someone who sees you every day and you come to genuinely love and care for them, they pick up on what makes you hurt and where your weaknesses are. I can try to push what I need down, away, and out of sight, but when I try and do so, he looks me in the eye and scares me with an incredibly accurate reading. For someone to know me that well is really a terrifying thing. Why? Because it means that I can no longer hide behind my caring or my laughing or my work or my intelligence. I have to come to terms with the hard reality of 'somedays I hurt and I don't like hurting so I push it away behind my walls so no one else can see it'. I don't like that reality, but it's a thing so I have to come to terms with it. Right?
The trouble is when that one person, the one that you trust more than almost anyone, looks at that wall that you store all your pain, all your fears, all your bad memories behind, they can start to see through it. It starts small, reading your eyes, perceiving your facial expressions, but bit by bit it seems like that solid fortress is turned to glass bricks and, while distorted, that person can acquire a brief image under the surface of your protection. And its unbelievably terrifying. Everything that you don't want anyone to see, suddenly has the potential to be rifled through.
When it comes to those walls though, I honestly don't even know the specifics of what's behind there anymore, all I know is that it's dark and disgusting and murky and there are few things that I would less like to see than what is there. Because that's a place in Megan that has never been let out into the light. That which is hidden may not even be that bad; perhaps awful words others have said, painful moments of rejection, or scarring events that caused deep hurt... but they cannot be discounted for the damage that they have done. My wee introverted conundrum however, is that by locking them inside and not learning how to deal with them properly, they've festered, started to rot, and have brought me to pushing others away rather than inviting them in deeper. So I put the hurt on a shelf, walk out of the building, lock the door, and do my darndest to swallow the key. Healthy? No. Fast and devoid of emotional debate? You bet your arms it is.
And then he confronts me by understanding my expressions and reading into what I need, and I'm no longer solid and strong. I've got cracks in my armour, chinks in the glass palace that is cold and calculating and emotionless. By wriggling into my heart, I'm seeing the repressed feelings and crap that I've buried in that now translucent structure and am embarrassed by them. Because they seem to me to be pathetic and even worse, weak.
I've been forced to reflect on though, that because of the care that I've taken to establishing this until-now impenetrable fortress, I am very aware of how unstable this structure is. But it's the person that I trust more than almost anyone, that's the person who knows how best to look into that darkness. And he holds me and reminds me of the beauty in the world and the light that comes from those around us. Stating that 'weakness' isn't seen as weakness at all. It's openness and vulnerability (my favourite ever word. Stupid thing) and the realness of a relationship that is healthy and beautiful and in so many ways right. And because he is the person I trust implicitly, I know he won't abuse that or cause me grievous harm.
It still makes me want to scream and run away though, that someone might see me as something other than strong. I need to learn what it means to be okay with weakness and know that it will take an extraordinary amount of time to be truly satisfied with this new understanding of strength. I will learn to be okay with showing the bits under the walls and he and I will traverse that dank mire together, but until then, I'm in no rush. The wading through of bogs will come in it's own time, but for now I chose to continue to care for people while searching my heart for the small ways to let this blessing of a man into my exposure.
I have so far to go. But when considered intently, it's worth every bit of the journey.
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