I could probably write several books cataloging all the resistance I’ve had and soothed and even reactivated and then soothed again. I’m realizing how much of my life’s experience has to do with resistance. Maybe other people have a different experience, but I’m guessing we’re all in a similar boat. We go through life, collecting experiences and telling stories about what those experiences mean. Those stories determine how we engage with the world, and within ourselves. They determine our level of empowerment and happiness. I’ve told a lot of stories about being abandoned and how that must be because I’m easy to leave. I internalized blame for experiences I classed as painful. If I was better, I wouldn’t have been abandoned. Consider how that particular story might reach out ahead of me into my day-to-day interactions. How it informed my experiences on the playground at my newest school. How it helped me match up perfectly with three bullies my first year of middle school. How I used it as fuel for my new persona in seventh grade, where I determined that no one would ever fuck with me again!
Now that’s a lot of resistance. I was pushing against a story that I told myself so often, it became a belief. I experienced evidence of this belief all the time. I was also pushing against the evidence. I didn’t actually succumb to the belief to the point that I stopped socializing or attempting to form relationships. Perhaps I knew on some level that the path was through and not in avoidance? Or maybe my pursuit was all in a distorted effort to prove my belief correct. I know that I continued to repeat unhealthy relationship dynamics for decades. I continued to define my worth on the state of my significant relationships. I wanted my loved ones to center me in their lives as I thought I was doing ‘for’ them. I attracted needy people who drained me and never reciprocated. Little did I know, I was doing the same thing to the people I loved most. I wanted them to prove their love and to prove to me that I was worthy. That was a painful and frustrating experience. I can still feel myself leaning towards seeking reassurance from others, but I’ve learned that it is only truly received from me to me. Even when my mom or my husband wants to reassure me, it doesn’t resolve the misalignment I have inside. It’s my story to rewrite. No one else can change it for me.
I’m rewriting one such story right now. I have long held a mistrust of older men. I can point to many facets of my story and experiences to justify the resistance I have in this area. That’s not the point. The point is, I want to change this story. I want to embody my own empowerment in such a way that I can drop that seventh grader persona and integrate her back into the fullness of me. She shows up any time I feel fearful, awkward, unsure, threatened, etc… I’m soothing those feelings, bit by bit. Sometimes I tell a better feeling story. Sometimes I rewrite an old story. Sometimes I get critical of myself for still having issues. Then I get to soothe that too. I could tell a story of such disempowerment I’d literally end up shaking and crying, with no perpetrator in sight. I could also tell a story of empowerment and selflove that gets me buzzing and laughing. I get to choose. And while I’m conscious of this choice, I’m choosing empowerment, love, upliftment, celebration. And when I unconsciously lean in the other direction (old momentum), I can come back to rewrite that story too. I owe it to myself to explore this empowered alignment with myself. I’m not doing this for ‘them’. I’m not doing it for anyone else. I’m growing into the version of myself I only ever dreamed about. She is free. She is love. She is lovable. She is lovely.