The following began as an email to a friend in February of 2020. Probably for the same tired reasons I never blogged again after that first post 5 years ago, I never sent that email. I found it in my drafts half a year later, realized it will be helpful to read in the future, and might even help others feel less alone - so I'm posting it here instead. Enjoy. (But don't get your hopes up I am the run-on sentence queen and my writing style is, well, less than impeccable.)
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I’m reflecting lately on this poem Science Mike shared. I wanted to share it with you.
I
I walk down the street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I fall in.
I am lost... I am helpless.
It isn't my fault.
It takes forever to find a way out.
II
I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I pretend I don't see it.
I fall in again.
I can't believe I am in the same place.
But, it isn't my fault.
It still takes me a long time to get out.
III
I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I see it is there.
I still fall in. It's a habit.
My eyes are open.
I know where I am.
It is my fault. I get out immediately.
IV
I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I walk around it.
V
I walk down another street.
― Portia Nelson, There's a Hole in My Sidewalk: The Romance of Self-Discovery
On first read this applies so obviously to any of my multiple maladaptive behaviors that have become deep grooves of established habits/patterns for me. But as I think more about it, I realize I deserve to acknowledge a far deeper change in me that I see reflected in this poem.
There were years I didn’t go anywhere, didn’t let myself be seen by anyone. I just hid at home behind the excuse of that “SAHM-life,” silently shrinking away into a shell of a person. In November of 2016 an old friend came to stay with me, and I think that was a turning point. My self isolation had gotten really bad before then, but sitting with my friend late into several nights getting caught up about who we were then and who we were now and saying things we had been afraid to say but were practicing saying and grieving loss and regret and unspeakable things... that visit reminded me that I was more than my demons, that there was a future for me that wasn't a lie or dashed dreams, but a future that I had just lost sight of for a moment. A moment that had turned into years, but - it wasn't lost, that's the important thing. I can't really explain it... and of course I returned to old habits soon after my friend left... but fast forward to a move to a new city and the tangible change that created in both geography and necessities (like, suddenly I HAD to interact with people because I didn't know where anything was yet or how to get an answer from my kids' school or which day was trash day) - and all of the change helped me again to wake up to myself a little. I started to stop hiding, started going outside even when I didn't "need" to, allowing for small talk with strangers, signing up for shit just because nobody else was signing up for it. And it’s easy to miss the forest for the trees of my newly blossomed anxiety now, but I have come a really long way. I saw the hole I was repeatedly falling into and getting stuck inside and I finally chose to try another path, around the hole. It did NOT feel like that when I was choosing each new path; it felt like nausea and panic and imposter syndrome and fear of failure and deep, persistent shame. Shame of who I assume people perceive me to be, but even deeper shame of who I am afraid I actually am. But now I'm noticing that when I choose new ways to be in my world, when I choose new worlds, I feel less sick to my stomach, less ashamed of being seen. The panicky moments will be there for a while still, I acknowledge that. The voice inside telling me I’m not fooling anyone and I’ll always be a fucking mess will never not be audible, deep inside my head. But I know how to respond to that fucker now. At least I'm doing the damn thing. At least I'm showing up for life now. When I walk out my door I feel a little lighter knowing I’m actually trying, and that feels so much better than when I used to carry the heaviness of apathy in my aloneness every day.
This was a journal entry for sure and I just decided not to send it to you because I’m afraid I’m too much right now but I will honor myself and this moment of clarity and keep it for myself. I have come so far. I am proving to myself I am capable. I deserve to be proud of myself. I deserve and have reason to hope.
2/7/20
