I've been talking with my therapist about edges. In particular, the edge I have to my very own self. The one that puts up with no BS and tells it to you straight. The edge that I was proud of and judged you with if you didn't have one.
I thought it was authentic.
Turns out it was a coping mechanism.
Somewhere I read that our coping is rooted in wisdom.
And so it was with my edge.
I developed it to protect myself from more abuse.
It didn't matter if you weren't intent on hurting me.
Or that you simply wanted to love me.
You got the edge any which way you showed up in my life.
But it turns out I really want the softness. Want it bad enough to keep trying with safe people. Practicing.
Dearest One and I talked the other day about when I developed that edge. Grade 7. I was bullied and then by the end of the year I became the bully.
Calming Therapist is quite sure that, in time and with practice, I won't need the edge. That a softness will replace it. Assertive yet soft.
I'm pretty sure the first time she mentioned it, my face said, "fuck you" in return.
But I heard her and something, possibility perhaps, opened up just a smidgen within me.
I'm learning that my being is tender beneath the edge. I've been practicing asking for my needs to be met. Doing so makes me feel vulnerable and exposed, imagining all manner of things that could hurt me. I can't yet ask without tearing up or facing an inner dialogue that accuses me of being demanding.
But it turns out I really want the softness. Want it bad enough to keep trying with safe people. Practicing.
Today Calming Therapist and I talked about the me that existed before the edge.
I forgot there was a me before the edge.
She was kinder.
She can be again.
1 comment:
Here's what I see, which is your soft side in your writing. Well, of course, but that's what I see. Don't have to live with you, don't have to deal with you, but I can read you and that's what I see. Your therapist sounds like the right one. I see a fascinating journey here.
Post a Comment