21 November 2019

A Break to Breathe

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It's difficult. When there's a voice in my head that says, "you're depressed, you've always carried this dark grief within you.”

I know it isn’t true. I know I had experienced joy, love, lightness, fun, even ecstasy. But when this cloud is here, it gets dark. And my judgement and vision are clouded by fear and grief.

Last week, in a lecture on anxiety given by a highly educated psychotherapist, I learned that when we experience anxiety, the frontal cortex of the brain kinda slows down. This means rational, cognitive abilities become limited, because the brain (and the rest of the body) instinctively focuses all efforts on the fight or flight response.

So, I’m feeling anxious, my thinking isn’t so straight, and my loved ones try to help me by talking rationally rather than offering comfort, compassion and helping me feel safe.

And as my anxiety stems from a lifetime-old fear of abandonment, I’m even afraid of asking for help to be offered the way I’d like to receive it, because that little girl is afraid that she’ll be judged as being too emotional then left alone. Again.

A vicious cycle of fears.

A gushing river of tears.

And heartache.

And feelings of loneliness and pain and desperation.

Paralysing at times.

I cry inside, “I just want to be held, I just want to be held.”

And I feel a need for help. Compassionate help. Emotionally generous help. Presence. Holding space. Nurture. Softness.

And I’m sick and tired of this notion of “find it all within” because sometimes it is too painful to do this alone. It is too self-destructive to beat about solo in the dark when I know it can be softer, it can be lighter.

I know, emotional detoxes can be shittily messy. The labour process to deliver a new, finer, more healed versions of ourselves is often not graceful.
But. Today. I need a break.

I need a break and I want to be picked.

I need a break to breathe.

To breathe.

To be.

Amal
Nov 2019

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