So my second recorded Brave As Fuck action was being vulnerable with a friend. Quick scene setting-had arranged to meet couple of lovely pals at the weekend in park for a few drinks (lockdown regression to teenage years!). Was excited to see these girls.
However, yesterday I started to feel uncomfortable as I am seeing my parents for the first time since Christmas next week. I started to feel that maybe I should minimise unnecessary contact with others. The reality of Corona hit (plus emerging from the last 3 months of my solo 'retreat'). So the highs and lows of 'corona coaster' were super active yesterday. A combination of finishing for 2 weeks holiday following the 3 months of my small living room being the centre stage of my working life. Tears listening to the Waterboy's Fisherman's Blues (an Argyll fav) as I processed these changes (lots of wild dancing too as I am learning to Feel All The Fucking Feelings).
So, anyway, I tell my friend about my ethical dilemma and decision to semi-self isolate again pre-Argyll trip. Ofcourse she understands however says she is disappointed as she was looking forward to seeing me.
Holy shit, the word "disappointed" is like a swinging bat, immediate kryptonite. It blocks my superpowers of connection, logic and roundedness like immediately. I start untethering-anxiety, heart racing, feel it super strong in my body-an immediate, physical amygdala response. Aware that this is an old reaction from childhood where I take responsibility for other people's emotions. I have also became more aware of this heightened physical response since I came out of front line social work practice nearly 18 months ago.
I become really still and listen to my body, I see myself do old routines where I poll take the opinions of others and tell my friend that I am "fine" (standard response for any people pleaser/emotional minimiser),
Except that I message my friend back and I am honest, I tell her that the word 'disappointed' seemed to disable me. She explains that she was looking forward to seeing me and was just expressing this disappointment. All healthy adult points. Yet I feel the familiar defence threat responses rising in me-flight, withdrawal, in other words to regress massively to wee child responses which kept me safe when I was n't able to express my feelings.
So 45 years on this planet and a fuck lot of therapy (including during lock-down with incredible therapist, Laura) means that I am becoming more attuned to the deathly effects of kryptonite on my superpowers of self-compassion and kindness.
My friend is braver than me and in response to my message actually calls me! As I am composing a fear based withdrawal text in which I will mask how I feel then experience the old familiar pull of self loathing for not expressing my true feelings-such fun.
Unusually, I sob down the phone (which really surprises me that I express that level of open vulnerability wow). And then I (clumsily) tell her the TRUTH-about what the words disappointed do to me. I say that it is not her-I think she is super awesome for being able to express her feelings. That it is an old wound; kryptonite (running with superpower analogy) to a recovering people pleaser/rescuer/emotional responsibility taker of others.
I can place these feelings within the global pandemic and my reality of living alone during lockdown then having to think about the impact of my actions more acutely. "A collective dystopian trauma" as another dear friend calls it. Indeed the wise gaffer of our lockdown-created tenement Gardening Posse has spoken throughout about the trauma that this will leave on us-describing how his sister's 8 year old grand-daughter pulled away from her gran when she tried to hug her as she did n't know if it was 'safe'.
Global pandemics aside, I also know this is my own childhood shit. Beloved father survived meningitis twice in a case which is recorded in medical record books somewhere. This recurring virus resulted from brain fluid leaking through his nose (nice) from an undetected fracture in his skull following a motor bike accident at aged 17. Brain surgeon and later Scottish Minister, Sam Galbraith took his case and discovered the cause, fixing the pesky leak with a metal plate and effectively saving Duncan's life.
Whilst this life saving was beyond awesome, Duncan was left with excruciating headaches. These caused him to retreat to the darkness of his bedroom, to crave silence. This is pretty hard when you have a wife, 3 kids, a sheep farm and caravan site (a most beautiful farm which overlooks Jura and Barnhill, where George Orwell wrote 1984).
As a reflective adult, I can see that Duncan had experienced major brain surgery and all that goes with that. However, as a kid I just assumed it was my fault, that I was too loud (as an adult I remain hypersensitive to my 'loud' laugh), that if I took this responsibility for his emotional state then things would be safer, he might not die and would get better.
The braveness of my lovely, kind friend in owning her use of the word 'disappointed' (completely unintentionally triggering my fun emotional tsunami) then calling to check on me, allowed me to feel safe enough to actually express my true feelings. Not minimise them or use the old fool proof "I am fine" but just be myself and (unexpectedly) cry. And I realised that words like disappointed can be because some one likes us and wants to hang out. And I am not responsible for those words. And we made a plan to meet when I get back from Argyll.
So in choosing to stick with the initially hellish discomfort of vulnerability-of saying my deeply buried emotional triggers out loud, I feel more connected to my friend and ergo my true self. The modern day high priestess, Brene Brown nails it when she says "staying vulnerable is a risk we have to take if we want to experience connection" and in ode to being Brave as Fuck she highlights that "courage starts with showing up and letting ourselves be seen". Word (mic drop).
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