This Is Survival Mode

April 2, 2015

First let me say this….please excuse me as I try to write something with honesty and risk coming off as an overdramatic pity-party seeker.

I haven’t written since January. To say I’m in the midst of writers block is an understatement. I have fragments of ideas swirling around my brain but I can’t get them onto “paper”. Most of the time I don’t even want to try. And here’s why….feelings are too messy.

I have spent the past couple of months trying very hard to not focus on the negatives in my life and instead see the positive side of life. Sunny side of the street and all that junk. It’s been rough and mostly I’ve failed and it recently dawned on me why I’m not successful. I have only been pushing aside the negative thoughts instead of replacing them with positives.

What has been sabotaging my efforts? Survival. For 16 months now I have been in full on survival mode. Since my husband decided to leave us I have had numerous cries but only 1 complete gut-wrenching soul-cleansing wail. And that one I cut short because the feelings were too overwhelming.

I am not someone that my friends would call heartless or devoid of emotion. They have all seen me tear up and I’ll ooh and aah over a new baby like you wouldn’t believe. But real, heart-baring emotions? Nope. Not anymore.

A few years ago I used to laugh from a much deeper place. I used to let myself cry at commercials. I used to watch romantic movies without needing a day to recover from it. I used to talk about my feelings. But survival changed that and I didn’t even realize it until recently.

Nowadays, emotions feel faked. My laughter comes from my chest, not my belly or heart. Sadness is ignored because it hammers at the decaying floodgates holding back a year of emotions I haven’t faced. Anger is an even more dangerous emotion because it picks away at the already splintered and bowing walls. Any real emotion I keep at bay, even good ones, because my heart can’t differentiate between them. They all threaten the fragile shell I’ve very carefully and shoddily laid over the tidal wave that’s been building up this past year and a half. Anything that reminds me of where I was 16 months ago is off  limits. I shut. it. down.

It’s protection. It’s primal. It’s my defense mechanism.

When someone leaves you for who you are, because you are you, it’s dna changing. You question everything you do, or are, or feel. Who you are isn’t worth working through and me at my best or us at our best wasn’t worth sticking around and working toward. They are forgoing a life with their kids because of who they had them with. How is any of that not going to permanently change you?

That’s why any emotion is banned because every single kind scratches at the feelings I’ve kept so poorly hidden all this time. A friend having a baby. Wonderful business opportunities. My kids telling me they love me. A stranger saying something nice. Anything that reminds me how much he doesn’t love me, or even more dangerous…how much God still does, and all of a sudden I’m holding back sobs because….feelings.

I’m not happy about this change. It changes me into a bland version of myself and it confuses the ones close to me. My sons, and my family most of all. I don’t want to be this kind of mom to my boys. I don’t want to be this kind of human. I realize the emotions have to be let out and faced and seen through to the end but….ain’t nobody got time for that.

Is there a place to go where they lead you into a padded room where you can safely and privately let out the emotions you should face but don’t have the time or energy for?? ‘Cuz there should be.

I’m not sure how or when I will work through all these icky feelings but I think realizing what’s going on and, gulp, writing about them will force me to take some action.

If I want to be the mom my boys deserve. And the happy, confident and accomplished woman I desperately want to become, I will have to start somewhere.

A quote I stumbled upon, attributed to Elizabeth Gilbert (who knows if that’s true), read:

“The women whom I love and admire for their strength and grace did not get that way because shit worked out. They got that way because shit went wrong, and they handled it. They handled it in a thousand different ways on a thousand different days, but they handled it. Those women are my superheroes.”

I want this to apply to me. I want to tattoo it on my forehead as a daily reminder to me and the world. I want words to move me to action. So….I should probably handle my shit that went wrong, find some self worth and get a move on.