I wasn’t raised in a safe, comfortable environment. Or, in another sense, I grew up comfortable always being anxious, on edge, guarded and expecting hurt. Throughout my life, I have slowly uncovered my frozen, guarded and angry defensive behaviors in my pursuit of feeling comfortable feeling safe.
Once a cover-up behavior is exposed, the raw hurt, the root of the behavior needs tending to. It isn’t a thinking action, the hurt must be felt before it can be let go.
For example, I grew up accustomed to not being heard. The family system did not include honest dialogue about feelings, hurt and aspirations. I lived inside my head, spinning stories that were novelesque, But, actually sharing these stories, pursuing the skill to craft and shape them, went contrary to my habitual acceptance of not being heard. My writing became a secret room and a form of cover-up. If I were to be heard, I would have to grasp the concept of being heard, so I scribbled fanciful stories that kept my hurt at bay.
Recently I have become more curious about what it might be like, not fighting with family members. I have so many defenses guarding me against being hurt, I’m quick to project and blame, and I don’t have a lot of strength holding the line at emotional flashpoint borders. As soon as I project or perceive I’m not being heard, the old pain floods and carries me away.
The obstacle in the path, pursuing feeling safe and comfortable, is that I’m comfortable with feeling unsafe. I clutch my stories of being unheard, unloved and utterly alone as if they will take care of me. I don’t want to let them go. I weep at the thought of feeding them one page at a time into the hot flames of a campfire. The idea is, as they burn, I create room for new stories. But, the act of letting them go is profoundly uncomfortable. I fear the exposure of hope that I might, after all, be heard.
I find it helpful, watching videotapes of animals being guided from a state of fear to safe and comfortable. They don’t appear to make up stories of having worth or being unworthy, so the trek from fearful to safe and comfortable, as long as they have a patient guide keeping them on track, is doable and sustainable. I see them make the journey, watch their bodies shake out the stored memories, and I am encouraged that I, too, can make a similar journey.
