The Thing You Are Most Afraid To Write.

My controlled vulnerability…it’s driving me crazy. It’s so hard to realize that, even after all of my work to become integrated and live out my life as my true, authentic self, I find myself, still, trying so hard to look the part, think the part, FEEL the part. What part, exactly? Not entirely sure…probably the zened out, figured her shit out, I was once “dot dot dot” but now I AM “dot dot dot”, living her life of full of abundance, and woke-ness, and complete peace.

But that’s just not true.

Sometimes, though it’s hard to admit, I am STILL that little lost girl that I try so hard to hide from everyone else. That little girl that feels broken and torn up about the way some cards have fallen. That believes life’s not fair, but it SHOULD be, and maybe one day, it just still might. The little girl that is lonely and terrified, because she knows, for sure, that life will never be fair, and she’s just going to have to keep letting go and letting go until there is nothing left. (Oh, sweet girl.)

This past Sunday, everything just caught up with me…AGAIN. I went to church feeling fine, and then floods of tears overwhelmed me as soon as I sat down for the music. It got to the point I had to stop wiping my face, and just brush away the tears as they pooled below my chin.

The truth…I’ve been sad for weeks, but too scared to admit it.

The thing you are most afraid to write. Write that. – Nayyirah Waheed

I did this exercise earlier this week. I thought about this quote… Write the thing you are most afraid to write. And I sat down early one morning with my coffee, and this is what came out:

I miss my dad. I miss what we used to be, even if that was hard too. I miss the comfort of having a parent. I miss the comfort of feeling like a daughter to someone. I miss having an adult approve my decisions.

I haven’t spoken to my dad in…I actually don’t know now…I’ve lost track. The timeline is getting blurry, and that feels like fading.

I am grieving the loss of my parent, still. After years from when he first started slipping away, it still weighs on me. After all the therapy and inner work, and the boundaries, and standing up for myself, and the self-soothing, that I’m still dealing with this shit.

I’m scared to admit that I’ve made mistakes, that I’m making mistakes. I’m scared that if I admit it, it means that I need to go back. I’m scared that if I admit any of this that means I have to go back.

I’m scared to admit that I’m confused about my life, that I worry about my life, that I worry about my relationships. I want so badly to be at peace, I’ve worked so hard for my peace, and I’m scared that it is slipping away, or that perhaps I never really had it. Maybe this was all another facade, another illusion. Of course it is.

I’m scared that I don’t actually love who I am like I tell people I do. I don’t always treat myself like I do.

I’m scared to be honest about my addictions. Weed, food, tv…my one true, delicious addiction…numbing out. I don’t want to feel pain, or hunger, or boredom. I don’t want to feel lack, loss, being without. I don’t want to be left alone with my thoughts, and my mind has been so loud lately. I don’t want to be left alone with my heartache.

Numb the fear, numb the thoughts, numb the doubts, numb the loneliness, the heartbreak….the achiness.

I’m delaying my grieving. I’m scared to let go of these last pieces. I’m nervous of what will replace the drama, the up and down of my relationship with my dad. If I let that go, then is he gone? Right now, the anxiety and worry that pop up are all I have. The incessant questioning and mind churning is my last lifeline of this relationship.

I’m scared that if he doesn’t change his mind about me, we’ll never find each other again, and I’m terrified that he might change his mind about me. He might choose to love me as I am, and then what the fuck will happen?? Does the last two years, the last however many years… just get erased? Does he just get to say the things he’s said and then we just move on…again? Like the last time? and the time before that?

I’m scared that if I’m honest about my not okayness, people will think I’m really not okay. People will think I should just go back to the way I was. I’m scared that they will be right. That it would just be easier to go back. I’m scared that people are judging me, at all, about anything.

I’m scared that I don’t belong. That I left behind an old life for a new one, but I’ve just tricked everyone into thinking I belong here, but really I’m just the orphaned girl running away from her past.

I’m scared that I have to put on a brave face to go into work today, that I’ve just turned into another version of Peacemaker Lisa, trying so desperately hard to make everyone around her happy while she withers inside.

I’m scared to hate or love my dad. I’m scared to have any feelings towards him at all. I’m scared to put anymore energy towards him, for him. I’m scared to talk about him because I feel like I’m being too much, for Dave, for my friends, for my mom. That I’m going too slow, that I’ve been too severe.

I’m scared I’m losing my brother in the process of all this.

And after I wrote all of this out, I had a super shitty day and a rocky week. Ha. But there was some relief in my body of not having to hold all of this inside me, of not needing to CONTAIN it ALL in my little body. And this past week, I’ve done a lot of exploding and self-soothing. I keep trying to remind myself that I am safe, physically, and I’m safe in feeling these things. I am safe in grieving. I am safe in falling apart. I am safe in not having all the answers. I am safe in making mistakes. I am safe in not being okay.

And just in case you’ve fallen into the trap of feeling like you’re alone in all of your feelings, that you feel like the only one that ever falls apart, that you’re the only one that just can’t seem to get it together, I am with you, again and again.

So much love friends,

Lisa