I’ve been putting off talking with someone about something important to me. I imagine the other person doesn’t want to hear it, and I think it will be challenging to say. Worse, I am imagining two things happening. One, this individual will get emotional. It’s hard to handle other people’s emotions, especially when you struggle to handle your own. Two, they may carry on doing whatever they are doing without change. Whether they heed my words or not isn’t the real concern. I just hate feeling disregarded, unheard, or unseen. The fact that they may ignore what I say doesn’t say anything about my worth or value, but it is still heavy. And it’s difficult to remind myself of that fact at the moment.

What if this person hates me for saying what I have to say? What if they suddenly have a lightbulb moment and begin a grieving path as I am talking with them? What if they lash out? What if they never speak to me again? What if they just do nothing, as if I never said anything at all? What if they choose to reflect on what I say and continue along the same path? What if they thank me for my honesty? What if they return my concern for them with their own concern for me? What if one of us cries or gets angry? What if…what if…what if?

But what if I just take the time to choose my words carefully from a place of love, concern, and compassion?

I was talking about this situation with my therapist, and I noticed it isn’t just to the detriment of others that I hold back essential interactions. I do this very same thing to myself. And when I interact with myself, I say many mean things to different parts of myself, and those parts fire some pretty nasty insults right back. The struggle with myself is speaking kindness while turning toward the insults from parts of me with compassion and understanding. I struggle to listen, I struggle to hear the hurt, and I struggle to speak about my own hurt.

For years, at night, my body settles, my mind turns on, and I immediately tense again. It’s as if relaxation and/or calm opens a door to rage. I busy myself all day, and as my head hits the pillow, my heart pounds. My mind starts to race, questioning what must’ve just occurred to make me suddenly angry. In truth, this anger could be surfacing from the day’s events, something that happened eighteen years ago or thirty years ago. How would I even know at this point?

The other night, when the rage took over, I focused on my breathing and asked myself a question, “What do normal (read healthy) people do with anger?” I think most choose to resolve it, but I also think most people know what is causing their anger in the first place. I don’t notice it until I am still, and then, with nothing to do or no one to direct the anger toward, I lash out at myself. I criticize or attack myself verbally. I imagine hurting myself and planning my next suicide attempt, or, at the very least, when I will purchase and use razor blades. The next morning, I wake up and go about my busy day, repeating the process all over again.

If I had this difficult conversation, which I feel I need to have, it would be an exercise in vulnerability. I would need to speak from a place of concern and hear/listen from a place of compassion and empathy. I can’t convince this person that I am coming to them from a place of concern and love; I have to trust that they know this.

If I did the same thing for my parts, it could be a life-changing transformation. The truth is, I am afraid of the same two things for myself. First, the pain and emotional turmoil are terrifying to explore within my story. Second, I have a history of making the same mistakes and disappointing myself. My Self blames parts for that, and parts blame Self for not changing, ignoring them, or disregarding what is essential.

I need a safe place to explore the hurt and change the script. I don’t know that I can look at the hurt without help. Why? Because the hurt often paralyzes me. I need help stepping back, seeing things objectively, having my thinking challenged, understanding compassion through modeling, and working through it so anger doesn’t take over.

Well, I don’t need a safe place to explore the hurt. I have a place. What I didn’t realize was that the space really could be used for ANYTHING. As a former clinician, I wouldn’t dream of questioning this idea. Sitting on the other side of the room, though…

There’s more to this. I’m not there yet, though.