Patterns
Sit with me as I sit with myself, the inner workings of my mind as I hold, dissect, and make sense of the complexities of my relational dynamics and patterns.
Welcome to the depths of my psyche. I’m noticing a pattern…
.
Where I don’t allow those closest to me to be themselves. Inadvertently telling them how they are is not enough, is not good, doesn’t meet the standards I set for myself and, by default, them.
I see the flaws in this thinking. I feel the pain I’m not only causing myself, but putting on them because I try to shove them into nice, clean boxes for my brain to conceptually understand them. Rather than simply allowing them to be. holding the endless dualities within them. Which, for some more than others, is exactly what they extend to me.
It is a painful realization. The standards, the expectations I’ve set, are so high that I never reach them. Spirals of shame unfold in me. Grasping for control of the world around me for security, I lack within myself.
To witness the victim in me, who finds its righteousness in all the perceived misgivings and missteps of others as personal wounds. evokes a feeling of repulsion. that the whole time I am the captain of my sorrow, my pain, my shame, and my unhappiness. And to accept those as they are, with hope of their growth and peace of their being, costs me nothing and offers me everything.
My latest deep thoughts, that I’m just going to share with the world cause fuck it, we are all going to die someday, and the pain and discomfort of honesty and vulnerability deserve the breadth to be felt and witnessed.