People have been condemning me to this hell, keeping me locked in by fear and reaping what comes of that. I didn’t have a choice then but to accept that. I’ve made a choice since to keep going, having accepted it, seeking all the while a change of those circumstances alongside personal change, remembering how unacceptable the onslaught actually is; remembering that the abuse it enabled either side of that onslaught is a personal lesson to bear like a prickly bedfellow for the trauma I was and am yet to heal from; remembering that those who dealt abuse against me might be in the habit of keeping their lessons locked away from themselves, might never make attempts for peace, might never apologise or see need for apology; remembering that the truth (concealed or vague as it might be for others) cements the pieces of myself, as I recover from what I’ve endured and make amends for that which I’ve inflicted. Some would rather see me burn than face the truth. Some sit by with fuel for the fire. There was a time where I joined them and looked on stony-eyed as bits of ourselves caught alight. As I put out the fires, as those around me help to extinguish what should not have come to pass, we’re reminded daily of the ways in which each of us contributed to it… and each of us have a choice to hang on to the fuel we carry still and channel it somewhere else, in another way… a better way.

 

Resilience is key. Safety comes first but one cannot ensure that without the other. Resilience is key to maintaining safety.

 

My resilience wavers beneath exhaustion. The kind of power-grabbing exhaustion that comes on the back of the same emotional turbulence that doesn’t go only one way. Stoicism or some variation of that has helped me to stay objective and steady enough beneath everything that trembled. The lack of response from me as I remained stoic (ish) with others became a subject of scrutiny. My change in response awakened enough of me for others to then shine a glaring spotlight on my animosity*. One way or the other, there was fault to be found. How odd… an imperfect human?

 

Absolutely natural. I’m allowed. Let’s consider all things…

 

Of course, people want to know if I’m taking liberties with that so they take liberties of their own to find out. What they find is not always what they expected simply because it reveals more of who they are than what they sought to fix. That’s been true, throughout.

 

*Interesting that the word animosity comes from Latin meaning spirit and courage, and time has distorted this, demonised it…

 

I’m so tired. I find myself wanting to stop life for a moment. I know I can’t. I want to pause. I want to pause without reflection for a moment simply because there are those who just skip on by and point fingers at me, and they do so without realising the damage it does, without realising they’re contributing to a bigger problem and they’re making themselves a part of it, prolonging something which is otherwise in hand. 

 

I want only to be left to live my life without interference and without undue attention and somehow, my guilt about a lot of rather normal things gave way to speculation and pitchfork donning; my guilt over finally giving in to my feelings after a lifetime of being too nice had me burning at the stake like a witch, justifying the actions of those with pitchforks and flamethrowers, and lighting a beacon for those wanting to throw fuel on the fire, as I (lay dying) locked in my mind, burning with the fire of society’s fears, knowing the unknowing in those who condemned me and giving in to the condemnation because it feels deserved—because I gave in where I shouldn’t have, because I’m human, because I’m not perfect, because I’ve spent too long weighted with those unrealistic expectations, because I’m ‘one of the good ones’ and I have to give hope and not take it away, because I have to see the goodness and spread the goodness and try to be better—

 

—and you know what, that responsibility as others sail on through life with careless disregard, makes me want to set myself adrift. Still. 

 

In the burning, I thought once, maybe I’d find that. In the ashes, there it was.

 

Freedom. Unmoored, untethered. Adrift. I was a little more free.

 

It’s within this desire to be free where challenge looms. I’m not alone. I am connected. I matter. You matter. We matter. A tug on one of my threads serves only to knot, unravel, choke, if we cannot make the time to pause when we need to, sit with the threads of ourselves without becoming entangled in them. 

 

(I’m tied down just enough, and still they pull the threads that bind as though complete freedom is a sustainable way to live.) I’m acknowledging myself enough to understand those deeper childhood fears, and its accompanying present-day fear of loss.

 

It’s easier to steer this boat now that it isn’t on fire. (Thank you, people, for no longer playing with matches.) 

 

p.s. Three metaphors on the go here but this is a work in progress, much like myself. I’m being patient with myself. Are you?