an unhappy catalyst
I confess I didn't want to do it at all. In fact my attitude was about as stinky as it gets, but for the sake of creating an opportunity, I agreed to join the group. Participation was optional as far as I was concerned. I would turn up, do my time, tick the box, get the piece of paper. And that was it.
Ha. The plans of mice and women, eh! That group has been my undoing. Or perhaps it was the making of me as I grudgingly engaged, shared and emotionally thawed. The gentle prodding and questioning helped me see the extent of the knots I've tied myself up in. Strong knots that have held me together, but are ultimately tearing me apart.
Because in all my tenseness I've lost the ability to be nice. I'm so busy pretending I'm OK, sucking my stomach in (or the tears) (or whatever) that conversations bounce right off me. I can't absorb anything, I just react - ping. You're knocked down and I feel good because now you hurt like me.
Only I don't hurt because I'm pretending not to, so maybe it's just that I ate too much sugar today - or not enough? Or went to bed too late last night? Could it be the lack of exercise? PMT? (Because anything is better than admitting I'm suffocating in agony on the inside)
And then this group came along and people just would not let me be, and then I started crying. And then I was undone.
But in a good way. A freeing way. The knots loosening, the tension easing. I'm not there yet, but it's happening - the slow unravel.
And I like it.