I will cry when you go away

I have realised that sometimes my fear of "the loss" is so great, that I try and protect myself from it.

The logic goes something like this. If I really admit to myself/others how much I love a person, or how content I am with my life, then when things change I will feel the loss so keenly it will really really hurt. And so I will not admit to myself or others just how strong my love is, how happy I feel. That way when it inevitably changes, I somehow will not be so sad as the loss surely won’t be so great. And of course in the process, I deny myself the happiness that was there for the enjoying in the first place.

For me, I don’t think I’m afraid of the height; or even the falling. I think what I’m scared of is the length of the fall, and the resultant injury. I know it is clichéd to quote Shakespeare’s “better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all”. But I guess that’s what I’m finding – better to have lived, fully, messily, with the scars to prove it, than to hide my heart and soul beneath so much protective cotton wool that it can barely be heard.

Intentionality

My years with NCBI have taught me many things, including the way I can overcome my “stuff” and reach out to people. And with limited time and energy, sometimes I have to make choices as to who to reach out to. This is where I become “intentional” and I may cast my eyes around the room and think to myself who shall I connect with now? I’m guessing other people do this and we all will choose according to various reasons. Lots of us probably choose someone we think we’re likely to get along with, maybe someone who looks a bit like us, perhaps they look as lively/timid as we are. Or we wait til someone comes over to us rather than risk making a fool of ourselves and going over to them.

Since hearing more about how it can be to live in a minority, I have become more deliberate in who I choose to go and talk to. If there is only one Dad amongst a crowd of Mums at a toddler group, I think it might be quite tough for them, so I go and say hello. If I’m at an event and notice there is only one person who appears Asian, I will go and engage them in conversation. Or if I spot that the audience is all of a similar age except for one young person, I will sidle up to say hello. Of course, I’ve had to look at lots of my baggage, my racism, young people’s oppression, etc, so as not to be patronising, and obviously, there are times I don’t get it right. But rather than leave people in isolation, with others around them feeling too shy to go over and make that contact, I take the risk.

And of course, everyone in the room is worth getting to know – with sufficient time, I can strike up a conversation with each person – the unexpected connections are always a delight. But if time is tight, then we have limited choices, and so I pay attention to who I might be avoiding, and why, and consider if others are making that same decision and if so how might that feel for that shunned person… And the result – some amazing conversations and friendships. So go for it!

forgetting the words

I’m not always a powerhouse of positivity.

Sometimes I wonder if it’s just me – do other people feel stuff as intensely? Do we just keep quiet about it ‘cos that intensity might not be normal? Well, in the spirit of thinking maybe this might reduce someone else’s isolation – or just my own – I’m going to try and share just how overpoweringly desperate I can feel sometimes. It’s usually but not always late at night, and always when I’m by myself. I _know_ they’re just old self doubts, but that doesn’t stop them feeling massively, threateningly powerful. Each time, I’m surprised at just how strong the feelings are, and really have to talk myself into a place where I’m able to sleep/stop the thinking/feeling. I completely get why people do things like drink to numb the pain, because it feels excruciating. I have my own list of things that help – sometimes I can’t remember what they are, but mostly I get through by telling myself things to contradict the fears. Sometimes I read an escapist novel to remove myself from the intensity. And always I bring to mind a couple of people who I know that if I couldn’t talk myself out of it, I could call up. Even tho it’s really really late. Sometimes I hear their voices in my head cos they have said things to me, like “well I think you’re amazing” (thanks Ursula). Another brilliant friend once said to me that when she was struggling, she heard what her friends were saying to her, about her, and even though she couldn’t quite believe it, she knew that these people were good and wise people and so they must be telling the truth. I have several wonderful people in my life, who I have been able to be vulnerable and woeful with, and sometimes even downright horrible to, and these people love me nonetheless and when I’m at my worst, help remind me that I’m still great. I’m very grateful and honoured to have them in my life.

“A friend is someone who knows the song in your heart, and can sing it back to you when you have forgotten the words.” Donna Roberts.