To Feel My Way Through

So, the short version is that when I was a little kid, I was really sensitive. Empathetic. Really, I was.

But along the way, I got hurt. A lot hurt. In big ways by friends and strangers. In the normal everyday little ways of family and life. So I put it all away. I determined to do whatever I could to avoid getting hurt. To stay out of reach of the people who had hurt me. And I was good at it. For many years now, my walls have been high and my personal space miles wide. Except for a few, I wouldn’t be touched.

But.

I’ve been changing. I’ve been reading. I’ve been learning. I’ve been dipping my tiptoes into the water of being all-me again, or maybe for the very first time. There have been lots of pieces all converging. But at the center is me. Just me. Wondering if I want to spend the rest of my life the way I’ve spent the first (almost) 40 years.

And I don’t think I do. Not anymore. I have too much to offer to hide anymore. So I’m trying. I’m letting down the guard, just a bit. I’ve opened up to the possibility that all the hurt wasn’t so much about me, about my broken-ness, and was more about someone else’s issues. Maybe I’m not the only broken one.

Of course, it’s really hard. And freak-me-out terrifying. And I totally suck at it. Changing and feeling and being seen and letting myself fail. But I think, I really do think, that it’s worth it. So I’m learning

• To feel my way through instead of shutting down emotionally.
• To risk that someone will actually accept me instead of isolate me and laugh at me.
• To chance empathy and see if maybe, just maybe, holding someone’s pain won’t sink me in my own. And if it does, maybe we can stand back up together.

And then yesterday, Alex came back into the house shrieking. I was in the basement, and I fully expected to see blood everywhere. Thankfully, it wasn’t blood. But it was wasp stings, two of them – on the hand and on the leg. And he was sobbing. The tears were literally dripping off his face. Snotty and upset and trying to hold it together and act okay, but just falling apart all the same. I quickly put together vinegar/baking soda paste to help the pain, and then I sat with him while he cried.

And y’all, it broke my very heart. I was deeply hurt for my little boy. And when the truth of that response hit me, I actually felt a strange joy. After all these years, it’s happening. I could see his pain and feel it with him. It was hard and good all at the same time.

But most of all, it was encouraging. There might be hope for me after all. Maybe I really can FEEL my way through this life after all. And even survive.

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