I am beginning to learn how I’ve avoided the work of becoming more authentic.
The stillness of my days is revealing the causes of my need to change. I have spent more hours away from people than among live action.
This stillness makes me restless, anxious, fearful of what may or may not happen. Then the magic happens. A door held open, a conversation with a “churchgoer,” reading what others have come from, pictures of furry creatures.
What I know today is, I don’t have to know. Wanting to change involves the same grief process as the death of a person, denial. I no longer believe I don’t need to change. Bargaining—maybe if I just try harder to be something different I’ll feel better. Anger—I can’t be wrong all the time. I’m not always to blame. Then—“Now what?”
I’m angry most of the time which means I have a great deal of fear to confront and the shame that creates it.
Pencil on paper, writing (I’m old school), makes everything real. Sharing it with a live person will come in time.