I really like my clinical supervisor because even though she gets spacey and talkative and complains, she calls me on my shit. She says Mike "How is this impacting you today?" and I deflect, and then again, and then she asks again until I am crying. And then she asks, "where did you learn that you have to put yourself on hold?" and... I feel seen.
I do the same thing with the kiddos, its probably too therapeutic, but she says "I worry about you in this job," and I say, I do too. I worry because I don't have the supports in place that I need. I am isolated, lonely, and easily swayed into the drama of the world. I am a child and the chaotic world is heart breaking. The joy and sorrow of it all.
Last Sunday I kept having flash memories of university students waving banners from their apartment and dorm windows, calling for reform in Syria. And I kept picturing how they were massacred and tortured, how the middle class, multicultural and educated society fell into a bloody civil war with a half a million dead, and millions of refugees internally and externally displaced. Outside invaders without checks or balances, without regard for human rights, chemical weapons, epidemics. Once it began, no one could stop it. And in my head all I could picture was these students. Like in Les Miserables. Like countless squashed revolutions. Like countless disappeared. And all they were asking for was just to have their voices heard, to matter.
I tell my supervisor this, and she reminds me that when you don't see division between people, when you see only "us" then the tragedy (and the progress) is felt at the core every time. Half the country voted for Biden (so that the American empire limps on), the other half voted for a fascist. And despite the incredible relief of the news today, I am still carrying the weight of the fact that half of the United States doesn't see their neighbor as deserving the same dignity and respect (or rights) that they have. In fact, they feel so unheard and disenfranchised and afraid that they would deny the humanity of everyone around them just to feel a pinch of feeling like they matter, like they belong. And it reminds me of camps I have walked through, that are exactly like the camps and prisons of today. And it reminds me of the slavery that used to exist, that is exactly like the slavery of today. And it reminds me of the suffering of a man who some believe was G-d, tortured and dying and asking that they all be forgiven, and how angry I am that "his followers" are the ones crucifying us, without any regard or acknowledgement or responsibility.
And I just can't handle the weight of it, so I ask people how they are, and listen hoping that they will do the same.
And My supervisor calls me on my shit, and implies that I am putting others before myself, saying that I am in essence saying they have more right to dignity than I do. And I have to stop and ask why I am so afraid of raising my own voice for me? And in the moment I think about how many times I put myself on hold this week. Because... I also don't feel like I belong, like I matter, like I am important. I've used my voice, I've invited others into community, I've fought, I've organized, I've taught, and held space for a lot of folks.
But I've seen how the beautiful and innocent can be destroyed without regard. And how even the powerful can be erased. And it's like... "Who the fuck do I think I am?" not guilt or shame, just a reality. The story continues with or without me, and I am doing what I can and feeling good about my contributions for the most part. But then what? I go home to watch YouTube or sleep, and none of it matters.
"Why is your stuff not important enough? Why is it less important than the folks you're working with?" And it's true... I can only assume that I am just as afraid. I am afraid of being used, abandoned, of disappointment of heartbreak, of being called out as a fake, as a bad person, of being too much. People have been asking me all week how I am doing, checking in with me in person and texting, and I deflect, turn it back on them, ask them, take on their stuff.
Whats it like when you feel too much? Well, you feel like a wreck. You intellectualize, you deflect, you defend, you create drama so you don't have to address it, you avoid, you hide, you lie, you manipulate. You do all the things I call my students on, with a smile on my face because "I'm like...yeah, I do that too." We all do. And I tell them, use the space to speak your truth. Just like my supervisor does. Cry if you need to. Break apart if you need to. Be your true self for a moment, not the version you've had to be to stay sane. Be insane for a moment, and then recognize, you're alive and fine, and fucking wonderful.
But I don't allow myself to do this, not nearly as much as I need to. I've gotten better at asking for help at work, but each time I feel like an idiot.
And of course, because I don't give myself the space to emote truly, I lose myself in drama too. Their deflection. Their defenses. Their asking for attention. All the things they do to not be seen despite being desperate to be seen. I smile, because thats me too, afraid of being seen, of being too much, of asking for my heart to matter. I learned this at a very young age, but I am playing it out even as an adult in my soon to be late thirties.
And maybe it's just that I am not really sure who I am and which of these feelings are mine. I can't always discern. I pick it up and then oh shit... A civil war that began 9 years ago? The chilean's disappeared 3 or 4 decades ago? The fucking French Revolution? Why the fuck am I holding onto trauma that isn't mine, has nothing to do with me and happened hundreds of years ago????!?!?!?!?!?
Because it was us, hurting us. And it's still happening.
The more personal stuff... I've been trying so hard to stay mad at M. To discount her. To call her a narcissist and be done. But I am still caught in the drama of it in my head. She was the last person I loved, and I am still picturing her as a teenager being told why she was abandoned, and watching her relive her story over and over. And I can't separate the cause and effect. I want to hate her for hurting me, but I still feel her hurt and it's so hard to be angry when you see someone suffering. Why do I do this to myself?
Because it's us, hurting us. And it's still happening.
And where am I in all of that? This mucky residue that no one else sees in me, an archive of qualia forgotten (to lift a partial quote). Or really they do see it, and see how helpful I could be and seek me out. It's not my pain, but my heart is broken all the same. So I hold space, put myself on hold, because it doesn't seem to matter either way. Whether I break your heart, or you break mine, my heart is still broken all the same. Whether we are joyful together or separate, I still delight in it.
This is who I have been. Who I learned I was from the time I had any consciousness. Same story over and over. When I hear my own voice amongst the stadium, sometimes it sounds like a child victim demanding attention, and other times like a sage walking through the chaos smiling in the knowledge that everything is as it should be... and the 36 yr old in-between? He's just confused between the two and playing the role that has kept him safe, and seemed reasonably helpful to others.
When will I change this story? What else would it look like? I don't know.
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