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Posts Tagged ‘feelings’

I can use them as a weapon, defending my opinions, my thoughts and even my personal space.  I can use them to keep you at bay or invite you in.  I can use them to hurt you, if I choose.

I can use them as armour, protecting myself from the hurtful world around me.  With a carefully placed “I’m fine” or a strategically used “everything is good” I can deflect the questions I’m not willing or ready to answer.  If I use them correctly, you won’t even be able to tell I’m lying.

I can hide behind them or stand on top of them.  I can wrap them around myself for comfort, or scream them from the top of my lungs in anger.

I can use them to express myself, or use them as an excuse not to.

Sometimes I feel them everywhere, in my head, behind my eyes, on the tip of my tongue and sometimes they get lost, hidden away from me, making me wander aimlessly while I wait for them to appear.

On more than one occasion I have regretted them, wished I could gather them out of the air and put them back in my pocket, never to be heard from again.  If only.  If only it were that easy.

It is not so much that I wished I hadn’t thought them, quite the opposite actually. I think we all think the things we are supposed to think, there is no crime in that.  The difficulties arise when things are spoken, written, shared, that really shouldn’t be.  It is not their fault for being thought, it is our fault for not having the wisdom to keep them to ourselves.

I have never doubted them, never doubted my ability to put them to good use.  Even when every other thought in my head is a question about what I’m doing, what I’m feeling, what I’m not doing, what I’m not feeling, this is never one of them.

I can use them to erase all of that, all of that noise in my head telling me all of the things I can’t and won’t and shouldn’t.  They take all that and put it away, at least for a little while.  Because there’s no room for all of that, not now, not when it’s time to focus on what is the most important.

Because it’s always the words.

My words.

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I told myself I would always remember. I promised I would never forget.

I am learning I was wrong.

My daughter comes home from school some days and is upset, upset because of something someone said, a misunderstanding, a disagreement that only those who were involved could even remotely begin to understand. Someone wanted to play something and someone else didn’t. Someone whispered something and said it was nothing but no one believed them. A look was misinterpreted, a joke wasn’t funny.

Each day it is something different and yet very much the same.

I see her sitting there, upset, and I hear myself saying the words that I think will help. I talk about friendships, how to treat people, how to ensure people treat us the way we want to be treated.

On and on I go.

I hear myself saying the words that my mother probably said to me and I hear myself breaking the promise I made to myself so many years ago.

I promised myself I wouldn’t forget what it was like to be young.

I promised that when I was a “grown up” I would remember how hard it is to be a kid.

I know there was a time when I went through all of the exact same things. I have blurry memories of school yards and scraped knees and bruised feelings. Vague remembrances of choosing friends and not being chosen myself. I know it happened to me, you’d be hard pressed to find someone it didn’t happen to.

But I don’t remember the feelings. I don’t remember the raw pain of being left out, the inherent lack of perspective that comes with that time in a person’s life. I find myself advocating for a long-range view, knowing from where I sit now that all of this will come to be but a small chapter, a set of lessons learned and filed away. But she can’t see it from where she sits, just as I couldn’t at that age.

I want to teach her the things that will help get her through this. But quite honestly I don’t know what those things are, and even more honestly, I’m beginning to realize that she doesn’t want to be taught.

She wants to be understood. She wants me to wipe away the tears and tell her that I know what she’s going through. She wants to hear that I realize things are hard, today, right in this moment, not to be told that they will all get better years from now.

And maybe that’s the solution for now.

Less teaching and more understanding. Less talking and more listening. Less words and more hugs.

Less forgetting and more remembering.

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Today was a good day.

A good day for no other reason than the fact that it wasn’t a bad day.

It seems that when I scroll back through the days that have passed, day after day after day, there have not been many good days.

I have been sad.

There have been tears, so many tears. They blurred everything and I could not see the other side; I did not even believe the other side existed. I could not see how it would ever look different, ever feel different.

But it has slowly been lifting, so slowly at first that I didn’t even notice.

And when I finally did notice I was scared to think too much of it. Scared that like a timid rabbit, if I made too much noise it would scamper back into the hole it was peeking out of. After waiting so long I was terrified that if it disappeared again, this time it would be gone forever.

I started laughing because I wanted to, not because I thought I was supposed to. I stopped staring out the window and seeing only clouds and grey; I started seeing wisps of green and blue, the sun finally peeking through and warming what was previously only cold.

And today I woke up and realized I felt lighter. I felt like there was room inside for all things positive, inspiration, and hope. For so long I have been waiting for the next thing, the next bad thing, knowing that it would come sooner or later. Knowing it would come and fearing my ability to deal with it, believing that having to deal with even one more little thing would very well be more than I could handle.

Now I feel the strength coming back, the understanding that I am healing, that I have begun to take the first steps on this long journey back.

Today was a good day.

And that is enough for now.

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