relery.untamed
Open Hearts Open Minds
“Be gentle with yourself. Be kind to yourself. Give yourself grace” Words that cut deep. It’s like tearing off the sticky part of the band-aid that was stuck to the scab and hadn't fully healed yet. Painful, exposed, and back to step 1 of wound care management. Naturally, you grab another band-aid, smother it with ointment to prevent any further damage, and cover it up to protect it --yet again. Scabs that are removed over and over peel back an additional layer each time. New skin exposed revealing the tender and sensitive tissue so desperate to advance to the next step; a scar. And each time it re-opens, the development of the scar becomes a little more pronounced. More defined. Scars leave all different sized and shaped internal or external reminders that never fully go away. Sometimes they’re painful to look at, carrying a traumatic memory of a specific event or experience. Sometimes they symbolize healing and growth. Sometimes they're something we are proud of. And sometimes they're complex. They have stories. Scabs, though; scabs are different. They still have tendencies to reopen with the slightest bump or catch. They’re delicate and desperate to heal, but they have to go through stages. They take TIME. I’m still waiting for the scar that will replace the scab labeled, “Be gentle with yourself. Be kind to yourself. Give yourself grace.” Why is it that the words we need to hear, said by the people we love the most, can hurt the worst? I think it's because we know how bad we need to hear them. Seems strange, doesn’t it? Something we know we need, and something that is GOOD for us, creates so much dissonance inside that we might just instinctively reject it altogether? This response created by a trigger of something that disarmed us along the way, never giving us a fighting chance. Something that forced us to design a new form of survival. A way to withstand the arrows being shot repeatedly right towards our center. So we decided to weld a new suit of armor to preserve and protect, to fight whatever tried to make its way in. This feeling of dissonance and hurt starts to look a lot like an inner conflict between hearing the truth and believing it. Two VERY different things. I had a very vulnerable conversation with my Dad about a year ago, telling him the truth about the deep wounds I suffered growing up and how they have affected me as an adult. His response was something like this: “When you were born, I thought you were the most perfect thing I'd ever seen. You were amazing, and I couldn't believe I'd helped create something so beautiful. You were mine. Talented, creative, intelligent. So when I would see you struggle with things - not understanding something, or not performing as well as I thought you would - I didn’t understand it. It didn’t make sense why you weren’t doing better than this person or better at that one thing. I didn't understand why you had such a hard time. I just thought you'd be better.” Well, there it was. One of the many narratives I'd begun writing about myself based off of the thousands of times I'd been hurt by this expectation. Hurt by the things that created this narrative. The times I didn't get a second chance, was ignored, was called stupid, was rejected, or not even given a chance at all. That narrative became: I am imperfect. I am flawed. I am not able to live up to the potential that my parents expect of me, that I expect of me, that my coaches/teachers/instructors expect of me -- all because of the immense amount of pressure that I feel to be perfect. Good enough never is. It just doesn't exist. The drawbridge lowers, and in floods the self-sabotage, paralysis under pressure, and plummet of self-confidence and self-esteem. All quickly knocking over the small sand-piles I'd started building and even the fortresses that I'd worked so hard for so long to create. The problem was, they were all made of sand. Fragile. Defenseless. And defeated. Looking at the damage that had been done, all that was left was fear and shame. Fear of failure. Fear of rejection. Fear of disappointment. Fear to try again. I've been constantly faced with: What's worse? Trying my best, while kicking and screaming throughout the process just waiting for my confirmation of failure? Or never allowing myself to pour my heart and soul into anything, because if I don't commit myself fully- then I can't say I gave it my all and still fell short. Sounds a lot like a lose-lose situation to me. And sadly, I've frequently chosen the latter of the two. This mentality made itself quite comfortable in the most tired parts of my soul, and it has stolen a lot from me. One of the most significant things I've learned over the last several years is how powerful our minds are. It's a statement we hear all the time, but until you experience what your mind can take from you emotionally and physically - it doesn't quite hit home. When your pain manifests in hives all over your body, panic attacks out of nowhere, debilitating spasms, or complete mental and physical breakdown -- it becomes very real. The weight of it all. And the worst part is, no matter how aware of it you are and how hard you try to tell yourself that your narrative is different -- that wound bleeds and it pins you against a wall with what feels like no choice but to surrender. Truth vs. Feelings. Two VERY different things. I am so unbelievably, relentlessly, exhaustingly hard on myself. That can manifest in all kinds of ways - but over the last few years, I've found that it hasn't made me work harder. It has left me feeling defeated, blank, passion-less, and lost. Searching for purpose and significance. I don't hide from my pain - that's one of the reasons I created this space, to embrace and bring hard things to light. But I have an outer image that represents what some might view as strong. Confident. Driven. One that might make some reading this think, "I would never have believed you battle with...." But that's only because we are conditioned to take the snapshots of ourselves that present us at our best. Despite that reality, I don't ever try to paint an image of myself that is false and work hard to reveal the most raw and truest self I can to those around me, shattered pieces and all. Being open about the cages I live in alongside the taunting enemies of comparison to past versions of myself and to others, self-criticism, and inability to receive love. This is not a pity cry. And it's not a lack of acknowledgement of the love that I have for myself and who I'm becoming. It's being honest about the strong innate responses to messages that I received through my experiences since I was a young girl:
It's challenging for me to hear "I'm proud of you" or "I love you". My insides scream, "that can't be true". It's not because I don't believe the people saying it. It's the dissonance: truth vs. my narrative. It's almost like having an inner conversation that goes something like this: "Well...they can't have gathered that strong of an opinion or statement about me based on those things. It's not enough. Even if there's 10 things that are true, there are 393 reasons to refute them. There's still TOO MUCH WORK that needs to be done before I feel I deserve even one of those truths." That's when I pull out the letters and notes from people who know and love me most. The ones who strongly stated, "Be gentle with yourself. Be kind to yourself. Give yourself grace." Those words hurt. I love them for saying it and I hate reading them because I don't know how to be. But I need them. We all need them. We are far, far too hard on ourselves, trying tirelessly to measure up to the manicured and curated things and people that we think we want to be more like. But behind all things lie scars, and scabs, and stories. Pasts and histories and narratives. I don't know who needed to hear those three statements - but I think it's more of us than not. Write them down, store them somewhere you can find them easily, and pull them out often. Because you are worthy of kindness, and grace, and gentleness. Just like I am.
1 Comment
Michele Fletcher
4/20/2020 11:50:53 am
I remember when you were born! Your mom and especially your dad was so excited! You were and are beautiful! But now I see your inner beauty in your writings! I think most women feel as you do! I was constantly told I didn't measure up and why can't you be like this person or that...I can relate feeling like you have to prove yourself continually! I am so sorry you are feeling this way but want you to know your not alone! I really am proud of all you have accomplished despite your childhood! You are one tough cookie! Thanks for baring your soul! You also are a gifted writer! Big hug! Michele
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Becoming who I am without the world telling me who to be.-Rachel (R) Elery Archives
March 2021
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