Perhaps why I did what I did is less important than owning what I did. Reasons, excuses, trauma or excitement – that I couldn’t have known or didn’t care about the consequences is less relevant than owning the parts of me that did those things.
We are taught to hide our imperfections. To hide our shadow, our darkness.
Trauma taught me I could only be safe with myself- that I can’t, and couldn’t, trust anyone. I push parts of me out front to protect that parts of me that I’m scared to show.
Life taught me that people will hurt me. But the part I ignored is that I too hurt people. That we’re all just humans, making mistakes, on journey to somewhere we don’t understand, going through things we don’t understand, learning through pain instead of wisdom.
Sometimes we don’t know what we’re doing or why. Sometimes we’re so traumatized we act, we react, we over act, we lead too strong, we show up too weak, we do things we don’t understand, we doubt ourselves when we’re great and over inflate when we’re not.
And sometimes we know exactly what we’re doing and just don’t care. We know the burner is hot, but we touch it anyway, then blame the burner. Instead of owning that we knew it was hot and wanted to touch it anyway, hoping it wouldn’t burn us.
Only later to realize it was not the flame we had to worry about but the afterburn that was worse than the flame. The damage done by eating the poisonous apple, getting too close to the fire, because inside of us perhaps there’s a little more Eve than we want to admit.
We want what we don’t have. The things we do in the dark, we only regret because of the shame society has given to it, telling us we’re bad and wrong and evil and damaged.
We make it mean something about us. And maybe it does mean that. That we’re broken and fucked up. Because we can’t seem to fit in, tow the line, line up, be the good girl, the one who does what she’s told, doesn’t make mistakes…
But what if it’s not as much about right or wrong as much as it is about owning the aspects of us ourselves that we have been led to believe we need to banish.
What if we can be both light and dark, good and bad, right and wrong, a sinner and a saint, a slut and a housewife. What if we don’t have to be all good to be good or all bad to be bad but in our humanness we can be both sinner and saint, whores and homemakers, Betty Crockers and Pamela Andersons.
What if it’s not our wholesomeness that makes us whole but our ability to embrace all the aspects of ourselves that make us whole? What if in rejecting the parts of ourselves that we deem broken and fucked up is the thing that helps them grow and take on a life of their own, hidden in darkness, lived in shame instead of being exposed to the light where it can be loved to wholeness?
To be whole is not to be holy but to be free and to be free is to be in truth and to live in truth we must embrace our humanness, the things that the world has told us to hide, to bury, to never talk about, to live in shame and fear of, instead of owning our shadow, we hide it.
And what we hide hurts us.
It grows and takes our light too, not just our darkness, it buries the real us, buries the good until we become shells of ourselves, in an effort to hide what we think is wrong with us and what will make us imperfect and unlovable.
For me it was my abuse, and who I became as a result of that abuse, the lack of truth by lying about it and the inability to heal because of it. And who I wanted to become in spite of it.
And while I faced what I tolerated, put up with, allowed because of it, I never really faced who I had become because of it – the ways I fucked up, the people I hurt, the things I did to survive, cope and get through.
Buried deep inside of the chest of places we don’t go. Because talking about what others did to us is far easier than talking about and facing what we did to ourselves and others.
The behaviours I hid, in shame, the things I did and hid in shame, letting it take over my life, how I shrunk deeper into myself for fear of people finding out how broken and fucked up I really was.
But perhaps it is my fucked up ness and my brokeness that make me whole and, not wholesomeness at all. As if I could pull off wholesomeness anyway. Who am I kidding with my fuck this and fuck that life.
Perhaps it is my willingness to face and embrace all that I am, the willingness always to grow at all costs, to embrace all aspects of myself, all that I am and all I am not, that makes me whole afterall.
Maybe wholeness isn’t perfect, maybe it’s broken and fucked up and not denying it, not pretending to be ok, not acting as if you’ve done nothing wrong, not acting as if you have nothing to hide.
Maybe it’s the willingness to ask for redemption, to do the work necessary to see all parts of ourselves – to have the courage to walk into the darkest parts of ourselves where sharp corners and deep truths live, that make us whole.
Maybe it’s in facing the courage I didn’t have, the guys I fucked, the guys I ghosted, the friends I ghosted, the people I hurt, the people I pushed away, the lies I told, the doors I banged shut, the ones I was too scared to open, the pretending I did, the feelings I shoved down to save another, the omissions – perhaps it’s in that I can own my scars, and all of my mistakes, what was done to me, what I did to others, what I became and then unbecame that makes me, me.
And maybe, just maybe, the me I am is enough, because right or wrong, flawed or perfect, traumatized or normal, I’m all I got, no matter what. I want to live freely, fully embodied and embraced, not merely survivig because someone tells me who I should be, how I should be, and what makes me good.
Mabe the light is for the good girls and the dark is for the brave ones – for I’ve always found it’s in the dark I always find my gold that leads me to the light. It’s never in the pretending or the perfection that I find my greatest gifts.
Maybe our wholeness is found in the pieces of us that we abandoned and reclaim when we’re brave enough to close our eyes and swim into the depths of our pain and brokenness.
PS… like the writing? Buy the book -> Unchained