I have been on a serious healing journey for the past eight years of my life, with my first leg being a New Ager until finally returning to the necessity of the psychological branch of well-being. One afternoon, I tried a healing exercise that consisted of thinking a recent trigger and taking the journey back to the first time I felt love was dangerous. This button-pushing episode was the time when my poor ex-boyfriend dared ignore me for 15 hours when I opened my heart out to him via text. 15 hours and it felt like he traveled around the world without any notification. I cursed at him, hated him for leaving me hanging when I only rarely let myself be vulnerable. So I traveled back into the past, asked my psyche what it remembered about left hanging…and it all came back.
My mother. When she left for weeks, sometimes months at end without even telling why or when she would come back. I crawled into my pain and ugly-cried into my hands. Then the thought came, “you can’t cry like that, you’re not a kid anymore. What’s wrong with you? You should be ashamed of yourself. Get yourself together.”
That voice is the reason why I failed all the opportunities I had in the past to be happy. I pushed away love more times than I can to recount and I am trying to gather a million-and-a-half papers in order to complete my college degree.
I never let myself cry about my childhood during my married years because I was supposed to be “over it”. I was a responsible adult and my everlasting goal ever since I could walk (ok maybe not then but definitely early on in my childhood) was to be the exact opposite of my alcoholic mother. But the little girl in me had never let out her pain. She was still reeling in pain whenever she faced any remote resemblance of abandonment as an adult, pushing me against the wall of abandonment to get away from any intimacy as fast as she could. I never let her cry on my shoulder and I never let her be ok with having pain.
By creating space and giving it a break, you creating room for more love.