I’m Done Being Complicit In My Own Suffering

At what point does it become insanely unworkable to be a participant in my own struggles? How long can I be helpless when it comes to healing my heart and my self-imposed brokenness? What is this insanity of being attached to a story of being wary beyond belief yet neglecting to share my pain with those who love me? How can I be a good lover to a man who wants to love me, learn me, and be vulnerable if I’m not going to open the door and invite him in?

I say I’m willing, and I am willing, but damn, it is terrifying, uneasy, and uncomfortable,. Sometimes it gives me an anxiety attack because being rejected after opening up feels like a hot iron branding my skin. However, how can one expect a magnificent love without the risk of crippling and earth-shattering pain?

Now, I don’t want to romanticize and make my fears unique or even extraordinary, because they are not. In fact, not wanting to feel pain after being hurt is pretty much a very common feeling among most human beings. I do, however, want to be responsible and share my awareness of my behavior and how my thoughts and deeds keep me in a loop of being armored up to my eyeballs while still wanting to connect and have this magical love. Those two things cannot coexist. Receiving isn’t the most comfortable thing for me, simply because I have to surrender my control of the situation. I have no control over what someone wants to do for me, and I’m going to have to be okay with that. I have no control over how someone will love me and take their time to learn who I am. If I can love someone my way, without permission, then so can they. I have to allow people to love me without interjection or protest.

The big picture is romantic. The everyday details are grueling. It’s the work of simultaneously building unshakable confidence and allowing myself to be vulnerable. It’s the day to day of interpersonal dynamics, making a choice to say “I need help,” “You hurt my feelings,” “I’m sorry and I want to talk this whole thing through.” Each time I skip over an opportunity to be vulnerable, I move further away from allowing people to learn my language. When I shy away from being honest about my hurt feelings because somewhere in my past taught me that sharing didn’t actually matter, I then invalidate my own voice. I allowed a rejection at some point to stop me from being open and allowed many opportunities to pass by because it’s simply easier than opening myself up. It is the choice to actively communicate every day with honesty, vulnerability, and openness KNOWING there is a possibility of not being heard the way I would like to be heard, but it also leaves the space to be validated and loved just a little deeper.

I’m as simple as I am complicated. My outward appearance is one thing and my insides are another. However, I am layered, just like all people. Suffering is a choice, and it’s the layer right above authenticity. It covers my choice to be responsible for teaching people how to speak my language. It’s the buffer between me and getting my heart broken or the magic of being loved for all that I am. I am not going to make myself wrong for being an active participant in my bullshit, because that’s not responsible. I am, however, going to be responsible for the work it takes to be open, vulnerable, and share, especially when it is uncomfortable and I’m being stubborn. Confidence is born out of knowing the balance between yielding and not backing down.

Wild Woman. Carefree Black Girl. Joyfully Audacious.

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