Regarding yesterday’s post, a friend of mine texted me last night and said, “I had a similar experience involving tequila.” Those two magic words, “Me too.” It lessens the power of that experience over me and brings me out of isolation. Unfortunately, because of my response to that encounter, behaviors were set in motion that were both harmful and reckless.
I learned early on to take experiences that not just felt wrong, but enforced the idea that I WAS WRONG, and stuff them way down to the end of my sock-feet.
The messages I received as a kid, or the ones my brain took and completely flipped inside-out, taught me to second guess myself about EVERYTHING. I learned not to trust my insides, my creator-given instincts. Words like, “I’m fine. Everything is fine. Nothing to see here. Move along.”, were automated responses from adults all around me. Even my five-year-old self knew that everything was not in fact, fine. One smart woman I know told me that FINE stands for “fucked-up, insecure, neurotic and emotional”. I’ve come to believe that wholeheartedly.
I can point to major life decisions that I went along with even though my insides were insistent that I pull up on the reins. The scenario that is the Bermuda triangle for me is when my head is says, “Don’t worry, I’m sure it will work out”; when my guts sarcastically murmur, “You have an empty gas tank, but by all means, DO take that road trip”; and when I have not paused long enough to be still and listen. Deadly trio.
Not being allowed to, or not knowing how to speak my truth will inevitably lead me to oblivion, one way or the other. Whether I implode or explode – the choice is mine. My exploding looks like a mama bear rising up to defend my cub-like feelings. My imploding looks like jet-black depression. The third choice, of course, is to speak your truth from the get-go. “No” is a complete sentence.