A New Reality is Possible. You’re Brave Enough to Hold the Mirror Up.
How I Unclenched My Fists and Calmed the F*** Down
My therapist and I have been exploring a new form of therapy for me. Therapy has been part of my life for a number of years now, but nothing has been as hard as this experience.
The mirror I’m holding up to myself is crystal f***ing clear. I’m discovering some troublesome things about myself, my past, and what I did to survive in an unbeknownst traumatic environment.
Those survival tactics flowed with me into adulthood. Instead of keeping me alive, they turned into the very things that kept me from truly connecting with people.
They were adaptive, until they became maladaptive.
This breaks my heart. I love people. I love learning their personalities and what makes them unique. But as it turns out, I’m afraid of them. I’m afraid of the unfamiliar kindness and understanding people are capable of.
What a sentence. Who the hell would be AFRAID of kindness and understanding? That sucks, because connection is what I crave. Human is my species after all.
I’ve been brave in the past to release the vulnerable parts of me, but I’m learning that I’ve only skimmed the surface. I haven’t been as brave as I could've been.
Why? I’ve never actually felt safe enough to do so. My past taught me that when I truly let my guard down, I’m told I’m being overdramatic. I’m too much. And the thing that sucks the most is I’ve learned people inevitably leave because of those perceived things.
My past taught me that it’s best to keep everything to myself, because if I show how I really feel, I’ll be tossed aside like soggy vegetables on the plate nobody wants to eat.
I’m not going through this placing blame. I’m discovering my part in all of this. My own pattern and involvement with every friendship, relationship, and family ties that’ve come across my life.
I’m noticing the patterns of my friend, Anxiety. I’m insanely over-aware now, which oddly sends me back into the younger, more afraid version of myself but with a new mask.
She was also insanely over-aware. Little Amanda was over-aware to the point that she wasn’t present, and she wouldn’t dare let herself shine through.
I’m letting go of control by reverting back to who I was before and after the survival tendencies kicked in. It’s not linear, and it’s not pleasant all the time.
It’s all a mess of all of it at once. Living with multiple histories, truths, and emotions crash and wade through me like the pushing and pulling of the sea.
What is this form of therapy? Schema Therapy is it’s name and it’s so f***ing hard. But I’m facing it head on.
What is Schema Therapy? If you’re familiar with different types of therapy, it’s a combination of CBT (Cognitive Behavioral Therapy), psychoanalysis, Gestalt therapy, and more.
It’s meant to find the source of certain patterns and work to get your core emotional needs met (the ones that weren’t as a child). I don’t think any of ours were, in one way or another.
When mine weren’t met, one of my Maladaptive Schemas was to disconnect myself from the present moment or environment that triggered me, and left my emotional needs unmet.
I didn’t speak up. I didn’t share my emotions, because I knew they would be invalidated in one way or another. I shut down, went up to my room, and listened to music for hours on end.
Another Schema was to be completely in control of the things I was present for in my life. I wanted everything just so. I didn’t want anything to go wrong. I did everything in my power to make sure that happened.
Inevitably, something always went “wrong.” That sent my anxiety and patience steaming through my ears. There was something peculiar about this, and set me up for even more dysregulation.
I had trouble keeping my patience, and yet I didn’t want to trigger anyone. I didn’t want to add fuel to the fire when there was even the slightest disagreement. Something as small as “why potatoes are better in fry form than roasted.”
I had to be the boss of my own life, which turned me into a hyper-independent who cuts herself off from people and has trouble keeping herself leveled in situations that don’t go her way.
In high school, I was a hyper-independent who didn’t raise her hand at school because I was afraid of being wrong. For me, being wrong meant I was unworthy. You’re supposed to be wrong in school and as a teenager. You’re supposed to learn. That’s what it’s for.
I was afraid of taking sides in class debates and discussions. I was afraid of having any sort of opinion at all. So I sat in silence, swallowed my light, and listened.
You see, I never learned to be my own best friend. I never learned to love myself. I thought love had to be earned, and validated by the external. My coping skills as a kid significantly reinforced that.
When I became an adult, guess what I did? I dated men who couldn’t extend the emotional depth I craved. I dated the ones who called me “too much.” The ones who abused me.
The ones who I sought to receive external validation from. Why? The number one reason being that was what I was used to. That was familiar.
Reason number 2 rings like an endless annoying chord vibrating my heart. If a man as emotionally unavailable who’s as messed up with their core needs as I am can want me, then that proves I am worthy of love.
I shouldn’t have to prove that to myself. No one should make you feel like you need to prove that you’re worthy of love. You are, without the validation. It took me a long time, and a lot of men to learn that lesson.
While dating in the past, my need for control grew stronger with every relationship. Control meant safety to my friend, Anxiety. I had what you would call an “anxious attachment style.”
When I didn’t receive a text, I would bug out. It felt like my world was crumbling. When we were together, I constantly asked the person I was dating if everything or he was okay. I constantly had to make sure every date was planned.
My need for control got so far as to feel embarrassed when one boyfriend coughed endlessly at a show, so I nudged him to leave. I’m not proud of myself for that one.
But now, I’m not so sure that Anxious was really my attachment style. I’m starting to think it went the other way. I avoided speaking up. I avoided releasing my thoughts. I avoided connection. I avoided my feelings.
Especially my gut feelings. All those times I saw the red flags, and they were BIG ones, I didn’t break up with these men. I stayed and stayed silent. Until it blew up my nervous system.
I kept going back to these types of men. They kept finding me attractive. It was a two way street I couldn’t turn off of…until I started therapy and made intentional choices.
Until I learned how to calm my nervous system. Until I started therapy. Until I learned that uncertainty is inevitable, and control is selective.
What would I tell my younger self? This:
Dear Amanda,
I hear you. I see you. Breathe. You have a heart that beats love. You are worthy of it. Let go, now. Unclench your fist, and watch the dandelion fuzzies flow through the wind. How beautiful is that? You’re going to be okay. I’m here for you. Here’s a hug. A big, long one.
Your best friend,
Amanda.
I’m learning a new reality. I’m creating a new reality. It’s not easy, but it’s possible.
If you needed to read that for yourself, please take those words, hold them tight, and never let them go. They’re yours now. Be your own best friend. Love yourself, because you are worthy of it.
What are the words you needed to hear as a child, but never did? Try writing a letter to your younger self.
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