I just came home from the second of four RAD classes being offered at the local police department. RAD stands for “Rape, Aggression, Defense”-a basic self-defense course for women. It’s free and instructed by police officers. They run us through various scenarios, teach us some basic moves…how to block, kick, punch etc. Most of us felt a little awkward tonight. The first night was just classroom stuff. Tonight we actually punched and kicked, which are things most of us haven’t done before. The awkwardness wore off after a bit of practice. It really doesn’t take long for muscle memory to kick in. After this first night of action, I can say I feel fairly confident in my physical skills, all things considered. My arm is probably going to hurt tomorrow, though. I’ll be whining at work “I punched a freaking BAG last night, you know”.
Honestly, the most challenging part of the night wasn’t even the physical parts. It was the shouting. Each time we punched or set up in a defensive stance, we had to aggressively shout, “NO!”. Every single time I was up, I would forget to say it. Even in my head, as my turn neared, I would repeat to myself “Say no. Say no. Say no.” I’d get up in front of the instructor, square off, and go through the motions…silently. “Sorry” I’d sheepishly say, and then I was able to do it correctly, yelling “NO!” I’d walk back to the end of the line, feeling a weird mix of empowerment and shame. Empowered because my throat chakra was open and protecting me. Ashamed because I had never in my life yelled the word “no” at a man. It’s foreign to me. Damn.
I mentioned to my ex-husband that I was taking this class. He replied, “Youcould have used this 40 years ago“. He was spot on. I almost thought, “whybother now?” I wonder how differently my life would have turned out had I learned how to say the word “no”? What if I wasn’t raised to be quiet and obedient, and instead learned to speak up? Imagine if I actually grew up believing I mattered? I’ll never know for sure, but I feel safe assuming something would be different.
I think it’s great they offer this class to women for free. There was only 15 of us there. I looked around the room, wondering who else might be like me. Statistics tell me I’m not the only one in that group, but it’s such an invisible scar, there’s no way of knowing. As we learned more and more, the narrative in my head kept talking, “we’ve already been sexually assaulted, you’re too late”.
Maybe I can put this on my ever-growing to-do list. You know, the one I have that lists the ways I’m going to change the world. #3: teach our girls to say “no”. And then teach them to kick some ass.
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They say your vibe attracts your tribe. Like attracts like. I guess I’ve still got some work to do, because I don’t always see this.
Don’t get me wrong. I’ve got some kick-ass people in my life. There’s actually quite a few Jami-tribes around here. I’m good. I laugh. I smile. I belong. I’m surrounded by love.
But…
There’s those few. I might work on this the rest of my life and never truly understand how anyone can so easily walk away from love. Friend love. Romantic love. Family love. My love. Yes, I understand how our experiences affect how we respond to things. I get it.
But no, I don’t really get it. Despite shitty experiences or faulty conditioning or lack of emotional toolboxes, how fear can be so strong, miscommunication…I just don’t understand. Life is so fleeting. We get this one brief blip, one shot, and then we are gone.
Or maybe you are still here, but I’m gone.
I believe there will be regrets.
My attachments are fading. As much as I’ve been praying for this, part of me doesn’t want to lose them. I don’t want to get used to letting go of love so easily. I ache letting go of love. Love is a gift, a blessing… but I don’t think you realize this. Maybe like doesn’t really attract like, after all.
My tribe is strong. Solid. I’m good. But I’m holding space for you, just in case.
This post was written in response to Linda G Hill’s Stream of Social Consciousness Saturday, found at the link below. I’m grateful for the weekly writing nudge.
I can remember when I quit smoking over 20 years ago. Of course, I knew cigarettes were bad for me. “Bad” is such a minimizing word. I knew they could kill me. And still, it was so hard to stop smoking. I wanted to be healthy. I knew I would feel better without them. I was at the point where I didn’t even like how they made me feel. I felt dirty and ashamed after sneaking “just one more” when I was trying to quit. Eventually, I was successful. Though not after trying and failing multiple times. Cravings are no joke. Even for the strongest of the strong, addiction is hard. And changing your behavior is painful. No one likes feeling pain, right? Eventually, I missed them less and less, until the feeling went away.
I haven’t had a cigarette since I was 24. I rarely drink alcohol. I don’t use recreational drugs. I don’t spend hours numbing out in front of the tv or go shopping instead of thinking about uncomfortable things. I don’t eat to feel safe and comforted. I don’t keep my needs and opinions to myself. I don’t do any of the things I used to do to avoid feeling my emotions. The things shame taught me to do.
Oh, don’t get me wrong. I still have shame. I think we all do. Maybe sometimes we don’t recognize it, or maybe some of us have more of it than others. It’s sneaky. Like a chameleon. You never see it coming. Just when you think you’ve purged it all from your soul, it manifests in unrecognizable ways. Like, why am I crying about my credit score? Or, I wonder if that guy stopped calling me because he discovered my blog?
Old habits. I’ve learned the reason I keep playing out the same pattern in my relationships is because there’s this “false narrative” running in my brain. Leftover from my childhood. A bunch of crap that’s been brainwashing me my entire life. When you grow up being taught to feel this way, you have no idea it’s false. It’s all you know. You hear that voice in your head from day one. You think you ARE the voice. But you’re not. It’s just a narrative your brain came up with. I’m slowly learning that this voice in my head is just that…a voice. It’s not me. It does not define me. I’m in the process of teaching myself how to mindfully listen to what it has to say, and then make my own decision. Well, I do this when I remember.
Of course, that stupid voice does control me most of the time. I can’t help it. If I’m not actively focusing on not listening to it, I just default and do what it says. My current problem with what it has me just “instinctively” doing is forcing connections where there are none. Well, that’s not true. It’s more like trying to reconnect after the connection has been lost. Yes, that’s better. Though, if you ask some of the people on the receiving end, they might think “forcing” is the perfect word. Oh, there’s that chameleon again.
I love fiercely. I’ve been told it’s intense. I cherish my emotional connections and I work extremely hard to reconnect when I’ve lost someone I love. I suppose this comes from growing up associating love with having to earn it. From being taught that fierce love like mine will never belong to me. A lifetime of chasing love and validation from those who were expected to give it to me and just weren’t able to. I tend to love people who are just like that…unable to give it to me. Well, that’s not true either. I tend to love people who give it to me briefly, and then spend an eternity trying to get it back. And I have spent a lifetime doing this and beating myself up for it. Feeling ashamed and unlovable. Silly, when you think about it. I choose these incapable, emotionally unavailable people and then feel ashamed because they can’t love me. Of course they can’t love me. They can’t love anyone. Even when I thought they loved me, it wasn’t real. And as soon as I figured out how to shine my light, they left. Sometimes, the light shines on things no one wants to see. If only they knew that the way to the light is THROUGH those places you don’t want to see. They say you can only love someone as much as you love yourself. Maybe all this fierce “love” I’ve been giving people really isn’t love at all. Maybe I confuse it for something else…like anxiety. Well, that’s not really true. It used to be true, but it’s not anymore. My love feels differently now, now that I have the light in me. I do love myself. I do think I’m worthy of great, fierce love. I do not think I should have to earn it. Or change my ways to deserve it. Or lower my standards or needs or wants or desires. I know this. The right love will fit perfectly. Like my boys. Their love fits perfectly with mine. That is where I am setting the bar. Mutual fierceness only.
But, old habits die hard. I still get caught up in the idea that if I just love them enough, the light will draw them back, and help them heal and not be the human equivalent of cigarettes to me. Kind of a dreamer attitude. And highly unlikely. The people who truly love me think I’m crazy for not walking away from those who have hurt me. Maybe they are right. Codependency at it’s best, but at least I’m aware of it. And honestly, I like the idea of forgiveness and unconditional love and shining my light for them. I like having hope. I like the idea of everyone deserving love. Everyone. So, I keep trying. I can’t seem to quit it just yet. Cravings are no joke, remember? Eventually, I think I will miss them less and less, until the feelings just go away.
And shame? Fuck shame. It can only live in silence and secrecy. It can not survive if you identify it and talk about it. Put it on a blog and it disappears. You should try it.
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