Feeling Feelings Again

It’s actually quite terrifying.

Photo by Joanne Glaudemans on Unsplash

I am in therapy. It is working well for me. Cognitive behavioral therapy is helping me to make sense of past trauma and present fallout. Going to therapy was part of my self-care plan, to finally do something good, something meaningful, for myself. Just because I couldn’t name what was wrong doesn’t mean that nothing was wrong.

While therapy has been beneficial, it has not always been particularly pleasant. Knowing that you were abused is one thing- closing the wound is another. Complex feelings that affect your well-being need to be addressed and worked through. Releasing 9-year-old you from shame and responsibility hurts, but it has to be done.

The hardest thing for me was learning what disassociating was. My idea of it was only shaped by what I’d seen on Instagram, so of course I was way off base. Apparently for me, disassociation wasn’t me floating out of my psyche and thus not being able to pay attention as a result. Mine is a result of not associating with a feeling because it was never cultivated in me.

For example, I love my nieces and nephews, and when they would get a Boo Boo or be tired, Auntie Crash would snuggle them or coddle them- because that’s what you’re supposed to do. I was mimicking the culturally appropriate responses. In reality, though, my empathy was dulled because growing up, if you got a Boo Boo, you got yelled at for being clumsy enough to get hurt; then you were (begrudgingly) taken care of while being reminded of how your injury is inconveniencing your caregiver. They had to put down their book for this!!

Hugs were not big in my house. No one wanted some goofy kid always trying to be up under them. They either wanted to be alone, didn’t want to be bothered after work, or were on the telephone for hours with their latest conquest. (“Go play somewhere else, Ashe. Go on.” [Closes the door behind me.]) I also learned, unfortunately, that all touching is not good or loving touching. So yes, in my 20s and most of my 30s, I hug my friends because that’s how you greet. But there was feeling missing. What was wrong with me?

Being affectionate with my spouse. Sigh. Sexual assault at the ages of 5 and 17 showed me that being overly nice to men you trust means that you owe them something, you’re leading them on- and that entitlement means that eventually, they’ll take what’s owed to them. So I did my wifely duties. And felt nothing. My body knew what to do and did it. But I was not in there. My husband is very emotionally intelligent, so he noticed. We were both young, so our conversations did not always go very well. But I am happy to say that with patience and time, our talks helped me. About a year and a half into our marriage, I couldn’t keep my hands off him, lol. Still going strong in that department 2 decades later. The gray stripes in that beard- ooh! Moving on...

In most areas where I had to cosplay a feeling human being, I wanted the full feeling, I did. I didn’t want the mask to slip in front of my nieces and nephews, because they love me, and kids can smell a phony. I wanted to feel for them- authentically.

I wanted to get that excited, warm, fuzzy feeling you get when you meet your best friend for dinner, or go to their house for girls night. I wanted the hugs to make them feel loved (they are) and to convey that I love being with them (I do). And you know I wanted to do the horizontal bop with the love of my life, so what on earth was the problem? What the hell is wrong with me?

I started reading medical articles about sociopathy.

For years I just tried harder. I hated to call it faking it till you make it, because that’s not quite what it was. I just felt like I was missing something. It’s like I was getting the gist of how to feel, but not actually feeling it all. Constantly critiquing myself at every social moment, judging my words and actions so that I was behaving correctly for the occasion.

Try. Harder. Damn it.

I wrote letters of love to my friends. I bought toys for their kids, did things with them, told them I loved them. It was true! It is true! I tried to be a good partner to my husband, (us versus everybody) and he says, “To say you succeeded is an understatement.” But my feelings? Still stunted, blunted.

So, when I found out about a year and a half ago from my therapist that my ways of feeling have been stunted- I felt validated. How can you practice things you weren’t taught? How can you emulate feelings or behaviors that were not cultivated, but invalidated? The only feelings I had deeply rooted in me were anger, shame, fear, and sadness. I can feel these things deeply and truly. Ugh.

And so, Cognitive behavioral therapy is teaching me to turn off my fight or flight or freeze or fawn response. It doesn’t need to be on 24/7.

Also, I must stop analyzing my every action and bring myself back to the present moment. Just be, and focus on what’s happening now.

Think about how hard your nephew hugs you. Feels like grass. There is grass in his hair. Tears in his eyes. He’s a good boy who feels things deeply. God I love this kid. It’s OK baby, Auntie’s here.

OMG. My friend and her husband are hilarious. We always laugh hard when we’re together. Her husband has become really good friends with my introvert husband- He’s one of the only people that can get him out of his shell. You know, we’ve been there for each other during some hard times too. They are so solid man. Present. Loving. Understanding. They show up rain or shine. I am grateful for them. Dinner is on us tonight.

This man has loved me for 20 years. Almost half of my life. Helped heal wounds he didn’t create. He is more gorgeous to me now than he was when we got married. No more skinny head full of jet black hair, pencil thin black goatee. Now we’re a little heavier (I’m into that.) Bald (I’m into that.) Full beard (I’m into that). And his chin has two skunk stripes. Gray stripe, Black stripe in the middle, Gray stripe. (I’m really into that.) Get in this room, boy.

This past year of letting myself feel fully and realizing that it was me blocking myself has been hard. But the results are noticeable. Everyone says there’s a change in me. They can’t put their finger on it, but there’s, like, a newfound peace or something?

And I think that it’s because even though the last year was one of the toughest: My health took a dive, and money is tight. Hard decisions were made. Deaths in our family almost back-to-back. Letting estrangements happened after a literal lifetime of trying. I finally had good feelings to counter or balance out the anger and shame and sadness.

I’m safe now; It’s OK to feel love and joy and empathy and excitement. The family I have now feels the same about me and reciprocates. I’m safe to show those feelings authentically now, I don’t have to second guess. I really get to just be.

But I still regress, still find myself having days where I’m too tired to put into practice the things that don’t come easy (it’s more than just the disassociating) and I have to be reminded that healing is not linear. It’s a very squiggly line, if it even forms a line. I can try again tomorrow. And so I go. So it all goes. So what all is going.

I appreciate the tools I now have and the explanations given. I’m not a sociopath. I just have a traumatized child in my head and in my heart. And she has to learn how to be safe and that her feelings are worth cultivating.

We’re getting there.

Y’all be good.

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