I forgot to name the fear. The fear is that no one will believe me that I have done the work. The fear that I can’t prove it. They won’t see it. It won’t work. I gotta do something! That fear. That’s the fear of not being believed. That one dates back from childhood for sure. I fought to be listened to, to be believed. I was painted as being the cause of the harm, but I didn’t do it. Why don’t they believe me? That one is ever present, and I welcome the feeling with kindness. My feelings are allowed, even if the facts don’t support the feeling. I understand and welcome and hold myself a little closer in those moments.

Hasty solutions are not always the best. The quick fix gets us there, but I still need to do the actual repair. The duct tape fix was only supposed to be temporary, and now I find myself telling other people that duct tape is the preferred method, with zeal even. Oh man, that’s so wrong. I find it difficult to write the thoughts out because they are so wrong. I feel so bad for thinking and reacting in those ways, and I have to sit with the results of my actions. I am sitting with it. I am allowing myself to feel. It is important how I show up every day, not what I do, but how I show up to life. That’s what makes the difference.

I welcome the fear. The fear brings up things that wouldn’t be seen without the thought. Being able to be with this and not react all neurotic, that’s my goal. That’s what allows me to show up in life consistently as a mature, responsible man. I am a safe space for others. That is my new definition of being a man. At the end of it all, it’s more than enough, meaning something to a beautiful girl.

I can see these things because I felt these myself. I thought I just would just keep working on myself, and she would get better with time. That was totally wrong. Let me be clear that I do not endorse that approach. I saw all the potential of who she is once she is able to be herself and speak up with confidence and poise. The strong woman who she is, I saw that. I also saw her showing up regularly as a crying mess. I thought the answer was to snap out it and get back to work. There’s no time for crying and it doesn’t help, and that’s weak stuff getting in the way. I pushed that perspective. I am passionate and forceful.

This passion has gotten me in trouble. She stopped being herself, and I feel like I am to blame. I didn’t allow her to be herself. I was advocating for getting rid of those emotional pieces and just being a positivity robot. I advocated this for myself. I beat it into my head and was so mean to my inner child. I would dismiss and invalidate myself, telling myself I wasn’t allowed to feel a certain way. I emotionally abused myself. I called myself names. I scolded myself for the way I would feel. I would do my best to make those parts of me smaller, with the goal that they disappear entirely. This is not my goal anymore. It actually feels a lot easier to allow the water to flow instead of trying to stop the river. I can let the river flow and welcome the life that comes with it.

On our topic, not for potential. I am starting to see that I saw the potential and who she will become. I wasn’t patient enough to let her become herself in her own time, being there for her along the journey. I would like to be the witness and the comfort zone. I didn’t do that. I tried to rush her to where I was because I wasn’t able to do the work with her in that moment. I had blocks in place that didn’t allow me to look at the painful parts of my past. I couldn’t admit that I was affected by the past trauma. I wanted to show how much of a big boy I was and how it didn’t affect me. Hahaha. That made me laugh out loud with how it sounds now. I know that little boy did little boy things. He’s growing up and healing. I will give him the grace and forgiveness he deserves. I offer myself forgiveness, and a part of me rejects the forgiveness. A part of me says I am not worthy of love and forgiveness. That part of me can present a lot of evidence to support the case. Instead of arguing and saying that part of me is wrong and stupid for thinking that, look at all this other evidence, instead of that, I can hold that part of me that is saying it feels not worthy of love. I welcome that part of me. I embrace it with compassion. All of me is welcome. Gently, I can ask why they say they are not worthy. He replied and said that everyone has left, and it just keeps seeming that way. We’ve never talked about it. That’s why he only sees it that way. I only shamed and dismissed that part of myself, to convince it to think otherwise. I never addressed why part of me would feel that way, and it’s understandable, but it’s also not the situation I find myself in today. I don’t have to react and lash out in a misguided attempt to protect some perceived fear.

I am regularly going through a mental exercise where I hold that little boy. The little boy walks up to me, and he’s upset and crying, then he walks to run away. I tell him it’s okay. It’s okay, buddy, what’s wrong? I pick him up and hold him. He tries to talk but the tears keep flowing and won’t allow him to get his words out, just snot bubbles and cries. I hold him, I embrace him fully. I tell him that I am there for him. I’m right here, buddy. Feel it, let it out, go for it buddy. I’m here.

I remember being told as a child to go my room. I felt encouraged to go away and not come back until I was not upset anymore.

I asked someone to walk with a broken leg, and then I laughed when they couldn’t. I told them they shouldn’t feel bad, they should laugh about it. I waited out for the leg to heal, but it never did. I got mad because they wouldn’t heal the leg. Where I lose credibility with myself here, I was not letting them heal and told them they should just be healed. I also pushed physical therapy too early, and the exercises were actually preventing healing at this stage. It is true that these exercises are great tools at a later stage, but we can’t just jump to the advanced stuff and be mad at them for not being able to do it.

It’s like giving kids calculus before they learned addition; then trying to force them into and not allowing any space for them to experience and process the emotional difficulty faced when doing something beyond current capabilities, and I wouldn’t give the right encouragement. I expected them to just figure it out. Not cool man. These are just kids, and they need guidance. This is how I treated myself. I may had inadvertently pushed some of these incorrect ideas with passionate fervor that was definitely misplaced.

I am reminded of an instance where my business partner brought up a potential issue with taxes, and I brushed it off. My fatal mistake, which I don’t do anymore, was being dismissive about her finding problems to bring up, and I made it about her getting in the way of things. I was so wrong, and it was the wrong way to handle this, and I skipped the part where I realize she is all about this thing and thinking through every aspect, and I could have welcomed her concerns with safety, and we could have taken a moment to discuss it, and we could have used it as a moment to connect, and I wish so much that I could have had the maturity and clarity to see that moment as an opportunity and not as a burden. I left the good unsaid, and I would only voice the changes I wanted to see, and I wouldn’t do it correctly, I didn’t give sufficient praise for her absolutely wonderful mind working hard on something it cares deeply about. I truly am sorry for ever instilling doubt. I handled the situation wrong in that instance. I can see it, and I am learning.

The feeling in the moment that delusionally justified itself was that I was in the middle of something else, and now I have to solve this, and I don’t think this is a priority, and I’m mad because I feel like I am struggling to answer every question and address every concern that arises, and people only ask me for things, every conversation with someone is another problem I am asked to solve, and I see that she was concerned about it, so I dropped everything and did it for her, and my immature childish expression was that I expected gratitude, and that attitude led to the dismissive of her feelings because the hurt little boy who struggled to keep his head above water and juggle all these responsibilities and things that he doesn’t know how to do and he’s being asked to do another thing and figure this out too. That sentence rambled and ran on. That’s the immature child voice, he doesn’t really pause, he rambles about how he feels, and sometimes he wants to rage against the machine, but that’s because he doesn’t know how to handle it. The only tool I learned from my parents was to ignore and focus on the good things. Moving forward is good and all, and definitely yes, I do that. Where I am currently diverging from that path is how to sit with the emotions and give them space to exist. I am not trying to focus on the good. I am focusing on what’s going on, not what I want to be going on. I am not angry because of the mismatch between desire and reality. In the past, I would definitely get angry. I would theorize this had something to do with my inability to handle the sadness or face the disappointment in a different way, a gentler way that invites connection. This approach invites healing. These are the applications in the little moments where it matters. It wasn’t one big thing, it was an inherent flaw in how I approached situations, which turned out to be a learned and developed avoidant attachment that played out in relationships, and contributing to the cycle of relationships. Even when the relationship was awesome, could have been “perfect,” I end up repeating the cycle unintentionally. Even after some work on self that got me gaslighting myself into believing that I didn’t have to be sad, and the everything was actually good because look how I turned out, and if I can just remain positive, everything is okay. Ignore the sadness, ignore the fear, don’t talk about it, look strong, act strong, don’t show emotion, emotion is weakness. And those thought patterns are what kept me stuck. I am good, strong, and enough and I sit and cry for hours about sad things. I cry at sad movies. I feel connected to others when they share their hardships. My maladaptive techniques were not the cure, and I bought the bullshit I was selling. I saw some success in the material and external sense. I focused on the external and somehow thought the internal was good to go because look how good the external is. If there’s any sadness, I would remind myself that I don’t have any real problems and so I wasn’t allowed to feel sad about it; I chose this path, so I wasn’t allowed to be sad or feel distraught about it; I convinced myself that I shouldn’t feel the weak negative emotions, and I pushed the “weakness” away. That was my mistake, I hated and tried silence parts of myself. I didn’t feel like a safe space for myself to speak up because the echoes were louder than me. My advice used to be ignore the negative emotion and just push forward until it goes away. My solution was simple and mildly effective. The more I yelled and pushed those things away, hopefully they would stop returning. That was my critical misunderstanding and mistake. I’m not making that mistake; I’m not hiding from the emotions, I’m not pushing them away. I’m welcoming and friendly; I am kind; I am patient; I am gentle and loving. Emotions are welcomed with warmth, empathy, and compassion. I welcome my emotions. I am saying it again and again in several different ways, and I’ll say it again. I am a safe space for myself to exist. I am calm and consistent with myself. I am gentle and welcoming for all my emotions. This is the process to healing. I now know that in order to heal from these wounds, I must allow them to have their space. I cannot heal if I don’t allow the emotion. A doctor cannot treat my wound if I won’t allow them the space to touch the parts that hurt. I am the doctor, and there are other doctors, actual doctors, but this is my healing journey. I am the one who does the daily physical therapy to heal.

There’s my new analogy. When I had broken legs, neck, collar bone, or was otherwise injured, I would go to the doctor and they would tell me what to do to heal myself. The doctor didn’t heal me by laying their hands upon me and lifting the pestilence from my body. No, no, no. The doctor gave me some pills to take; I took the pills. The doctor gave me daily physical therapy exercises; I did the exercises. I wanted to know how to heal better so I did my own research and focused all my efforts on healing from the wounds and coming back stronger and more capable than before. I learned a lesson in all the broken states. My mental health is just as important (maybe more so, but that’s not our debate) as my physical health. I see myself currently thrown into the deep end of doing my work to heal. The doctors have given me exercises, the books have given me understanding, the speakers have given me insights, and others have generally helped me connect some vague dots, and it was up to me to make application to my own set of facts. This is the work of analysis. This is the work of recovery from a mental injury. the thing about the mental injury that different from the physical injury is the time to heal or the intention maybe. The body will heal a cut or broken bone without conscious effort, time just allows the body to heal itself. I have not had such success with the mental injuries. The deep wounds left from childhood have not healed with time for me. They have been buried, and they resurface with near predictability. These wounds must be consciously healed. My theory as to why is that these are injuries that remain until they are addressed. I tried to ignore them and convince myself that I could function successfully and fully without those pieces. I was wrong to think that I would just be magically healed with time. Why did I think there wasn’t work to do? I believe I was using my parents as examples, and they are good role models, right? At least I wouldn’t have had the ability to say I was messed up as a kid, and my parents haven’t changed much because they didn’t address those wounds and do the work to learn how to be different. I am learning to show up differently. I feel different. It’s a vulnerable, connected feeling. I’m kinda having fun with this emotional mess thing. I’m a wreck at times, and I smile and allow it. I know that I am safe space for myself. I love myself. I am strong for being able to feel and connect with myself. I am strong for holding the little boy inside and allowing him to experience and feel whatever may arise. It’s okay for my inner child to feel hurt; I can hold myself with kindness in those moments. This feels more outward facing, but also inward facing. I am not finding the words to explain how this connection with myself turns around and becomes connection with others.

Apparently… I’ve never been on live television before… That kid was so great when he addressed his fear. I am learning how to be the brave child who feels safe to speak up. The little boy doesn’t need to yell to be heard. I respect him and understand him. I welcome him. I listen to him.

I was utterly broken when the woman I am married to tells me that she keeps an emergency fund in case she has to leave me. That stuck in my head. I said at the time that she definitely should. I also said that if she wants to leave, I would buy the plane ticket (and I think I did). Exactly what we focused on happened, the thing we focused on preventing, we steered right into it. She got to live out the fantasy she had of how she would leave me. She had been formulating that for a little while. Seems like she had the escape plan in place. Our point here is not figuring out her mind, the point is identifying the effect on me. I was left thinking she could leave me any minute. That stayed with me until the moment she left. I got to a point in my head where it was like, “well if I’m that bad then leave me already.” That wasn’t an explicit thought, it was more of a feeling. I see how I was living in fear. There was the fear of poverty, not being enough, losing a professional license, losing my wife, and all of those things were being dangled, and I wasn’t sure why I had to question myself every day. I didn’t even realize I was in the middle of it. I was somewhat a composed person in times of stress, but did I just give up. Throwing my hands up in desperation because there was nothing that could be done. I couldn’t do anything; sex was a topic that we’ll have to cover another time in depth, but, simply stated, I was feeling very inadequate there.

The only thing I could do right was make money. And when I made money, it upset her because she couldn’t make money. So I felt a need to stop telling her about the successes and how I was meeting goals. She would be jealous of me hanging out with people.

I will also tell a story, and first say your interpretation was absolutely valid. I definitely see how what I said could easily be interpreted that way. What I meant though, was that someone that was being very friendly switched up and was no longer friendly. That was something I brought to you because I was feeling hurt by the sudden switch, and I was confused about why this might be the case. This was my insecurity, and I was expressing my thoughts to explore that with you. That’s how I remember the intention, and I know I used all the wrong words and didn’t convey the correct meaning, and I’m sorry I didn’t clarify what was in my head. It’s all about learning about the areas where I have insecurities and feeling safe enough to bring those to you so we can question them and see them for what they are, just thoughts trying to make sense and protect me. An unnecessary action in the mind, but allowable feelings. It just takes a minute of acceptance, meeting the feeling where it is, and inviting it to be here, ask it what needs. I do this for myself, and I do this for others.

I lost respect for both of my parents, separately and for different reasons. Not all respect, and there is still respect. I still see how they tried how they knew best, and I can see that they have not awakened from that state. My mother has especially gone far down the road. It reminds me of popular media in a way. There is a short-sighted, on-to-the-next, making-progress attitude that I sense. I unplugged from that mess. I got caught up in it. I was ashamed and hid my short video watching. I fooled myself into thinking efficiency, but this was actually a trap. When the addiction got me, I lost my attention span, and I couldn’t spend time in the place where I was. I’m not saying the ability was lost entirely, but it was vastly diminished, and my relationships suffered. I have evidence of such, and those who care stuck it out and didn’t mind me for being crazy in those moments, but those I offended beyond breaking, they are gone. Not in a bad way, but in just the way that they slowly fade away. I left too much unsaid. I am too late.

You threatened to leave me in a very dramatic fashion, and then you repeated this threat. I was so fucking scared. The little boy couldn’t take it, and you made me feel so inadequate. I took your words as telling me I wasn’t doing enough. I don’t know what I did good. But you liked how we would talk and laugh, and we dreamed. I was just a fun escape, and then i stopped being fun. I got mean. I got angry at all the world wanting something from me, and she couldn’t be the peaceful place I had fantasized about. Every day I wondered if today would be the day. I thought about it every day, and she would surprise me when she wasn’t upset. I reminded myself how lucky I was to have someone that loved me, and she’s not actually gonna leave me, I just need to do better so she doesn’t leave. I couldn’t be there for her. Her finances were provided by me, and she blamed me for controlling her finances, when I felt like I gave her everything, she told me how much money she needed, and I gave it to her. She and I have a very different view toward money, I was worried about being poor and wore shoes with holes, and she would throw clothes away if they got a small stain. When I would try to leave, she would stop me and try to keep me, then she would create a fight, and I would spend two hours with her talking it through. Thinking I was being there for her, and sometimes I was. I always tried to take time. I felt like I was treating her with respect, and she would shy away and not speak up for herself. I would ask her what she wants, and she would defer to someone else’s opinion. I didn’t have a preferred answer when I asked questions, there was no right answer. The answer she gives is the right answer because it is what she wants and how she feels, that’s what makes it the right answer. When she stood up for the thing she wanted, I supported her 100%. I am with you, always. All I ask is that you talk to me, and that we can discuss it. I promise to not be dismissive. If I am, I hope I can catch it, but please call me out. It’s not okay behavior.

I looked past all these negatives. I put my head down, ignored it, pushed it to the side. I love her, and she is worth it all. I know we are both growing, and I also know that she didn’t see any growth in me. She saw a worsening pattern, and I don’t disagree. I see how the whole thing spiraled. When I snapped and took off the ring, I felt so worthless and that I was saying that I can’t do anything right and I’m done feeling this way, you are bringing these feelings to the light, and I didn’t want to look at them. You dragged me kicking and screaming through the mess of emotions, and I am thanking you now that I am on the other side.

I am writing love letters, daily. I really enjoy writing a daily letter to the woman I love. I get a chance to tell her about my day and some of my thoughts. It can be a place to talk about dreams. It can be a place for stories, past or future, fact or fiction. It an be a place for confessions of love and attempted descriptions at indescribable beauty. After a month of letters, I’ll just keep going. I find the practice very enjoyable. I get to share my joy with the one I love in these letters. They mean so much to me because she means so much to me. These are my handwritten words to my truest friend, my person. Today, I still have the hope that she will read these letters one day. I look forward to the day when the woman I love reads the letters I write for her. I very much look forward to when I can deliver letters to my person. I’ll point out the implications intended here. I will keep writing letters to the woman I love. Whoever that person is, she will look forward to getting my letters because they will be a special part of her day. I was listening. I did learn. I’m not that unpredictable, immature boy. I am constant. I am safe. I am compassionate. I can put myself in the shoes of another. It’s something I’ve always been able to do. I was pushing that to the side. I don’t know how I got so twisted to think that emotion stuff was getting in my way. If I just ignore it, it will eventually go away, right? That’s wrong. There is no “go away” for this stuff. It must be welcomed with warmth and kindness. I treat myself this way, and I allow myself to feel, and I don’t hate that part of myself actively trying to beat it out of existence. I see how I did the same thing to others, and I am deeply regretful that I dragged them through it because I wasn’t healed. I was that hurt person and the scared little boy, just trying to protect myself because I didn’t know how to be with these feelings.

I would be reactive and shut down.

Make someone else wrong for their emotions. “Why is there always a problem?” or “Why are you so emotional?” I would make it about her instead of about the experience. I could have asked what I could do to help. I could have gently explained to her that I was worried. I didn’t know how to say it. I was so worried about her, and I made up in my head that I couldn’t talk to her about it. I noticed the things around the house weren’t getting done. I noticed she wasn’t getting dressed. I noticed she wasn’t eating.

This is the mad wife. I’m making my way through the book, and I can’t help but think this is how she may have felt. The trapped feeling, the alone feeling, the tired feeling, the unappreciated feeling, the unloved feeling. The lady in the book is quite observant of the events and her thoughts on them. I would say that I completely understand how this lady feels. I would be driven mad, and the oven doesn’t sound too bad when life looks like the 50s wife. There’s the divorce route, and, apparently, there’s the lobotomy route!!!? I am unsure about how that lobotomy thing. I am firmly against it, and I can’t believe Henry would even think to give Lulu a lobotomy. Why don’t they talk?? Why doesn’t he know her dreams and desires? Why did he just make some guess that a dishwasher was what she needed? That one just kills me. I wanted to smack that guy through the book for being dumb. Then, I thought I should smack myself for being dumb, and I decided there would be no smacking, no violence.

I made the mistake of trying to convince her that everything was okay and pointed out all the good stuff and said she didn’t have any problems. That was a huge mistake, and I was entirely wrong, and I am absolutely resolving to listen, because she was explaining the problem to me, and I told her there was no problem. However well intentioned I was, I dismissed her emotional experience, I tried to mask the sadness, the same way I did that to myself, and both my parents do it to me, and I am eternally sorry for that. She didn’t need to be reminded of the good stuff and snapped out of it; she needed to be seen and validated for who she is. She must be (and currently is) safe to express her feelings without the fear of me telling her that’s not real. I see it. Not much more to question on that.

When I did this every time the emotions came up, she became afraid to express those emotions, she got in her head and wouldn’t come out because it wasn’t safe. She just didn’t show the emotions, and she hid herself away. When I would try to cheer her up, I wouldn’t acknowledge where she was, I would just try to push her into the happy state. I used this technique on myself, and I was okay; so the thought goes. That does not make it correct. Just because I went through it and I’ve been gaslit by my parents into believing they were good loving parents and just because I didn’t go without food then they were good parents. That does not make a good parent. There are many kids that have less than I did, but they had loving parents who cared for them in their times of need. I had parents that weren’t there and defended their actions because they had to work to provide and they would be mad at me if I was needy because they needed to go to work and provide for the family. I couldn’t work and it was up to me to figure my stuff out. The fridge had food, and I had to make it work.

I think back to when I was a child, and I can’t remember anyone being there for me. I was sad and crying about a few things as a child, and I can’t remember anyone ever being there with me.

I now see that I love this woman more deeply than I have felt that feeling before. I am extremely saddened that I was the cause of her hurt. I didn’t allow her to be herself, and she lost herself. I see clearly now how I was the reason she lost the bubbles. The thing that I labeled weakness and wouldn’t support, that is the very thing that makes her who she is. I smothered that light.

I don’t do those invalidating things anymore. As we’ve discussed many, many times. I treated myself a certain way, and I punished myself and others for acting in any way contrary. I would not allow you to be yourself because it forced me to look at the pain in my past, my wounds. I’ll say quickly that these are generalized statements, and I wasn’t always like this. I got worse toward the end. I stopped treating you like the person I liked and loved. I started treating you like a burden. Your emotions became more and more triggering for me, and the frequency increased, until that breaking point. I cannot justify my actions when I walked out, and I have no excuse. I have an apology, some context, and a genuine desire to repair and connect.

I am that little boy. I let him feel and experience without fear and without artificial guardrails. The little boy is free to explore these feelings, and he can experience his tantrum. After I have given him the safe space to feel, I can gently bring us back together. The storm has passed. I was previously unable to hold myself during the storm, and I would try to control the little boy, keeping him locked up, yelling at him and telling him that’s weak and he needs to be stronger and shouldn’t feel that way. That last sentence feels so wrong to say, but it also happens to be closer to how I treated this little boy. I denied his existence to the world, emotionally abused myself by locking the little boy in the closet anytime there were guests, and actively trying to positive mindset this boy into feeling different when we were alone. I don’t do that anymore. The little boy is here for the world to see and connect with.

This brings me to our final short story of the day. The story is about being seen. I took the little boy to get chicken and a milkshake. In the drive-thru, I was struck by a wave of emotion and the little boy needed to feel. It was the chicken nuggets that did the trick. He wanted to get his best friend some nuggets and ranch because that was her favorite. The employee at the window noticed my face straight away, and he said “oh, hey, I can see you’re having a tough day. This meal’s on me. I hope your day gets better.” I burst into tears and could barely say thank you. This man was kind and compassionate, and he saw my struggle, recognized it as the human struggle and understood what it was like being human and having a human experience. Learning how to let the boy cry.

Here’s a scenario:

What I understood you to mean really affected something in me, and the defenses want to be thrown up and argue, but I acknowledge this, give the benefit of the doubt, as get curious about this feeling, why it arose, and I seek further understanding with gentleness and compassion.

I began to formulate a thought about how being passionate to anger is not as effective as I might make it out to be. It is mildly effective, definitely not ineffective for some purposes. But it’s those incorrect applications of anger and attack in the name of passion that I’d like to examine here. I need to learn how to be passionate.

I got to thinking about it, and I’m probably 100 hours into this little activity of mine. I didn’t look up while I was in the middle of it. Now, it feels like I’m approaching the end of this part of the journey. This was a necessary side quest. I had to learn this skill before I face my next challenge in life. The next challenge referenced here is family. My inability to open up and connect with the little boy inside prevented me from opening up and connecting with another. I also need to watch my thoughts about myself. If I don’t like myself, it can lead to insecurity. Insecurity is exhausting for others and can lead to people pleasing and stress. If I am operating from a place of not feeling like I’m good enough and not liking parts of myself, and then hiding those parts, acting out of fear, fear of abandonment, fear of being too much and not enough at the same time. That’s not the place where I can raise a child, and it has a lot to do with how I treat my inner child.

the un-blending allows me to take back control. The protector is telling me something. The goal is not to eliminate parts of myself. I must help them eliminate their burdens. Richard Schwartz said something like this, and it resonates with me. The misconception of the inner work says we want to get rid of it. The more I try to get rid of it, the more it comes back. As we have discussed before, it comes back and hits me harder. I separate from the part, and I create a safe space for this little boy to be witnessed and loved. What happens is deep grieving. I grieve the hurt the pain and loss that I felt in childhood. Until I allow it space and feel it and grieve it, this part will continue coming back.

I fear that I was unconsciously trying to do to you what I did to me. I was trying to eliminate that part of you, not knowing that was the beautiful part of you, and then I wondered what happened to the bubbly woman, and then I found out that my goal to be robot, turned her into a robot, and she stopped being that person. So, she can’t be around me because now I trigger implicit memories that she has to get over, and there’s the chance that I do more damage.

I need to acknowledge the hurt and the pain that I caused while I was operating from this wouldn’t part of me.

Little aside, I am listening to this and thinking it’s excellent stuff because it is summarizing the work I have been doing. This guy is helping me frame some of the work I’ve been doing. I have been grieving with this little boy because he didn’t have anywhere to go. The little boy wants to take over in that moment and say he’s fine, it wasn’t that bad, and he’s not crying because he’s a big boy that doesn’t cry like little kids. Ugh, this need to be strong and not cry is something that was taught to me as a child, and it has been instilled in me again and again by the masculine culture talking points that say I should pick myself up, stop crying and go make something happen, do the work, accomplish something else and forget about that pain. I was never encouraged to sit with it and feel the emotions. I never learned that it was okay to have these emotions, and I build a mental bias against such behaviors. I was conditioned and trained, and realizing that fact is eye opening, and the source of mourning. I grieve for the hurt that I have caused others in the name of false virtue. Apparently, hurt people hurt people, and it takes an effort to heal from the original hurt to stop the cycle from continuing.

For me, this seems to come in five year blocks, plus or minus. I’m kinda guessing on timeline, I haven’t done a thorough calendar review, but the pieces in my head are lining up, so we’ll go with it for now. I have a theory. This five year cycle is because that’s about how long it took for me to forget the warning signs. I get distracted and don’t pay attention to the little boy; he was never healed. The pain was just pushed to the side and crowded out by all the other stuff. When the pain is no longer crowded out, but it is placed front and center, that’s when it starts over. The unhealed wounds resurface, and with a fury like not seen before, the little boy rushes in to protect.

I couldn’t handle it in that moment. I am hopeful that the work I am doing now will help to heal that little boy and provide him a safe and loving space. This safety’s goal is the calmness of this little boy and releasing him from his burden. I do not need to act to protect this boy; he is safe, I am safe.

Learning how to heal.

I need to be a safe place for myself and others. I wasn’t a safe place and could not be approached with a correction from someone else. I wouldn’t listen, and I had a reason why their suggestion wouldn’t work, and I knew better. I could logic my way into ignoring the fears, and I also had the ability to get upset and mad when questioned. I might get angry at the perceived attack to my ego and pride. This does not make a safe space for others who care about me. With this environment, they cannot approach and give feedback safely.

There is risk in me jumping to forgiveness too early. I miss out on the benefit and healing that comes with sitting and being with the grief, shame, hurt, disappointment, and pain. I could say to myself that I did my best, forgive myself, and move on. There is risk in doing that. There is also risk is present when acknowledging and taking accountability; I might only recognize that I messed up and then vow to never make that mistake again, forgive myself and move on. That looks like accountability, but that’s a false positive, making me think I’m growing but only dooming me to repeat the past. I said I wouldn’t do it, then I did it. Saying I won’t do it again, that doesn’t hold much weight. Understandably so. The previous trick would have been to tattoo it on my hand and read it and remind myself every day; that should work. If I can see it, then I don’t have an excuse. The flawed logic is the healing required to not repeat the same mistakes does not come from affirmations and a positive mindset with constant reminders; I tried all that, didn’t work, became stressful constantly pushing back and ignoring a part of myself. I am now trying something different that involves healing the past traumas and wounds; this path does not ignore or push away those parts of myself. I am inviting my whole being to be present. The inner child is safe with me. I am safe. These are the new mantras. Not about how awesome and great everything is, but maybe some of those too, but giving room for compassion and safety in my daily life, allow for and invite connection.

The state of survival I was living in, and the hurt. My energy and the way I show up has a consequence. I show up as the complete man who has the capacity to grieve.

How do I heal my family wounds? I didn’t understand this foundation previously. I pushed all this aside. I understand what it means to have an echo.

Oh man, I think I am realizing that I insulted her language abilities when I told her that the words she was using didn’t have that meaning to me. Looking at it now, this might have caused some emotional stir in her because of how much pride she takes in her language skills. I experienced and noticed a moment recently where my skills in an area were challenged, and my pride wanted to defend it. With her language abilities, I could have made clear that she is marvelous, and I really appreciate her language abilities. And this echo thing just reminds me of that. I have those echoes in my head also. But I would have never used that word before hearing it from her. Had I understood what this meant and how it shows up in my life, and had I been open to facing these challenges and past wounds of my own, then we maybe would have had a chance at working through them together. Instead, I pushed her away and told her to work on it by herself because I was already healed and working on myself. I see how I was very mistaken. This is a mistake I can correct.

If you can keep your head when all about you

are losing theirs and blaming it on you

if you can trust yourself when all men doubt you

But make allowances for their doubting too

If you can wait and not be tired by waiting

or being lied about. Don’t deal in lies.

or being hated. Don’t give way to hating.

and yet

Don’t look too good, nor look too wise

If you can dream and not make dreams your master

If you can think and not make thoughts your aim

If you can meet with triumph and disaster

And treat those two imposters just the same

If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken

twisted by knaves

To make a trap for fools

or watch the things you gave your life for broken

And stoop and build them up with worn-out tools

If you can make one heap of all your winnings

And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss

And lose, and start again at the beginnings

And never breathe a word about your loss

If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew

To serve your turn long after they are done

And so hold on when there is nothing in you

Except the will which says to them, ‘Hold on!’

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue

Or walk with kings, nor lose the common touch

If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you

If all men count with you, but none too much

If you can fill the unforgiving minute

With forty seconds worth of distance run

Yours is the earth and everything that’s in it

And, which is more, you’ll be a man, my son.

This poem has become interesting to me. I am going through applying and comparing this to the learning that I have done prior to hearing this poem. I may have save myself some trouble if this poen had been handed to me when I was younger, and perhaps if there was someone to show me how this is done, If that were all true, I might have a unicorn and pet dragon, and maybe I could have learned these lessons prior to now. Maybe even with some intentionality about how the actions of others are affecting me. This becomes important when I am raising my children. They won’t be treated the way I was treated. I got lucky that I was able to come out of it, some people never do. I got lucky to have the wake up call that left me healthy enough to walk away and learn a little more.