I spent part of my day yesterday and today reviewing my Securely Attached guided journal. It was helpful to go through it, especially for therapy today.

Therapy was very emotional, I came clean about being afraid to be happy. How hard it is to live in the moment. D told me I have to stop living in the future and start living for today. Today was my last appointment with her because she’s retiring. I need to call B tomorrow to set up an appointment.

Going through my guided journal again helped me realize a few things:

• When I’m experiencing an anxiety spiral, the feelings that ignite and fuel it are the same feelings I conflate with the relationship I had with Kay. Despite not seeing or speaking to her for years, her hatred and abuse is wired into my brain and I’m still trying to provide her wrong. Prove that I’m not unlovable, unimportant, worthless, or expendable. Prove that I’m not inferior.
• My grandfather outsourcing my care likely processed in my child brain as a form of abandonment.
• Not being allowed to question authority or be privy to the “why” of rules fueled defiance in my teen years but transformed into a lack of self-assuredness as an adult.
• Because I was taught my feelings weren’t important, I can be closed off. And, when my emotions are negative or “out of control,” I am exceedingly uncomfortable. I also have a tendency to disregard or dismiss the feelings of others, believing people should just accept a logical point of view.
• Mistakes are unacceptable and when I make a mistake, I should be punished. Failure, to my brain, equals physical or emotional pain.
• Kindness must be earned (transactional) and it’s not real. People being kind to me either want something from me or are being fake and putting on a show.

Although a lot roti sounds bad, realizing these things is the first step to fixing the way my brain responds. There were some positive changes in the time since I finished the journal. It’s probably been about a month since I wrote that I become defensive when accused of making a mistake and that I feel rejected when someone asks for space.

Last Friday, Mitch told me the board outright rejected my idea – some had a lot of questions. Instead of crying or blowing up, feeling dread or anger, I just listened and thought of alternatives that might be more acceptable. I was able to separate my idea from myself. I wasn’t rejected, my idea was.I think it may have also been because I had lunch with P and she shared some “corporate wisdom” with me.

I’ve also gotten better about listening to your need for space without making it about me. Instead of focusing on how I feel or the “mindreader” thoughts, I consider your perspective and experience. It has helped me better understand your need for space and made it that much easier to encourage you to take breaks and enjoy your alone time.

One thing I wasn’t expecting to realize was that my love of reading was born out of trauma. Reading was an escape. A way to leave the world behind and experience life from a safe distance. It was how I coped with my grief as a child, how I mentally survived an abusive marriage, and how I soothed myself after all the trauma I’d been through.

But as a teenager, reading wasn’t enough. There was no one in my life who could understand what I’d gone through. I cried a lot. Wished hopelessly on stars for my mother to come and find me. As a teen, I cut myself, raced my car on the highway, smoked cigarettes and pot, drank, had unprotected sex with my boyfriends (and a female friend), ran away from home, and solved most of my problems with violence.

I had written:

It’s difficult to give my full heart to anyone because I’m afraid of losing them. I know people won’t always be around for me.

And I realized as I read this that yes, people die and relationships end, but that’s no reason to hold back my love or deny others the opportunity to love me. I need and deserve loving and supportive relationships in my life.

There were also several messages and hopes for my younger self. If I could go back to my younger self, I would hug her so tight. The best, warmest, most loving hug. And I’d assure her that she matters – that even though mom is gone and we can’t remember her, that she loved us so so so much. More than anything in the world. I’d tell her she doesn’t need the love of strangers or men to make up for the loneliness we feel because we have some amazing friends and we carry our mother’s love in our heart.

If I could go back, I would take her away from the people that hurt her. And I’d shower her with affection and positivity. I’d take her to the library and read to her all the time. I would hold her and cry with her about mom being gone. I would teach her how to cook, how to make her curls pretty and manageable, and how to clean and care for herself. I would give her a love so strong she wouldn’t seek out and accept crumbs from mediocre men because she would know what it felt like to be loved unconditionally.