I Stopped Going to Therapy
Because I knew my therapist
was right, and I wanted
to keep being wrong.
I wanted to keep my bad habit
like charms on a bracelet.
I did not want to be brave.
I think I like my brain best
in a bar fight with my heart.
I think I like myself a little broken,
with rough edges, a little harder
to grasp. I like poetry
better than therapy anyway.
The poems never judge me
for healing wrong.
[Clementine von Radics]
Isn't that the truth? A part of us wants to hold on to that familiar brokenness, that comforting sweet song we sing of our guilty indiscretion, painting a picture of the little box we sit in. Change is hard, and redefining yourself even harder.
"Transformation isn't sweet and bright. It is a dark and murky, painful pushing. An unraveling of the untruths you've carried in your body. A practice in facing your own created demons. A compete uprooting before becoming. {Victoria Erickson}
I've become acutely aware of how narrow minded I am in terms of religion, forgiveness, and what inclusion truly looks like. Black and white has always been my answer to most everything. Though I believe in shades of gray, I tend to try to fit everything in its box and anything that doesn't fit is just causing unnecessary chaos (in a gross simplification). But what if answers aren't that black and white? What if what one grew up with, what's been drilled into the mind, isn't exactly the answer? What if someone telling you that a + b = c doesn't actually mean that every a and b make c? Is challenging those mindsets, facing those fears, really such a bad thing? What if all that means is you are finally set free from the confinement of the walls that were set to prevent your heart from breaking when all it did was create such a pressure that a slight disturbance sends it into a thousand shattering pieces?
As I believe I've talked about before, the bible verse of God hardening Pharaoh's heart has always been a difficult one for me to grasp, for the unfairness it seemed to me. I have never been one to believe I have any authority to question God, but it has always pained me to wonder why God would take away someone's chance to understand by hardening his heart toward any kind of love. I feared that in myself, that some day I would not understand the teachings I once did, and I think that day has come. The day I once feared, however, has morphed into something far beyond what I imagined.
There is great difficulty in forgiveness. The tight grasp in not wanting to let go of things that are out of my control. The reoccurring pain I feel for situations that are of the past and no longer breathing. The darkness of dreams that seem to swallow without remorse. The self inflicted harm that feels it deserves to be there. This is the hardness of my heart. It did not come in a form I thought it would - a solidifying stone-like quality of apathy and coldness - rather, it came with a knifelike twisting, allowing blood to spill over and drown the heart that was once confident in its acceptance and now throbbed with pain, anger, and defeat. The hardness of heart took on a strangely lifelike quality, thriving in its destruction, breathing in its misery.
Facing the questions of youth, questions you never wanted to ask, takes on a whole new meaning when there's something worth fighting for. When you get a glimpse of the bigger picture, when you peak out of the box you've become so accustom to, surprising things happen.
I've spent countless years talking about faith, asking questions, digging deeper, always feeling like a coal miner with a flashlight that's batteries are causing it to flicker in and out. Like that fading connection, I've asked tirelessly and found little relief in my search for understanding. That is, until I stopped looking. Upon surrender, I discovered more than I had bargained for.
I found that the love of God is felt around you, not above you.
I found that almost nothing is black and white, but everything has its own shade of gray.
I found that freedom doesn't come with understanding, but with accepting
I found that forgiveness is a process, one that ultimately starts with patience in yourself.
I found that judgement begets judgement, and pointing fingers begets a clearer exposure of your own faults.
I found that stepping away from what I've believed has lead me to a better understanding of what exactly it is I believe.
Forgiveness is a work in progress. Questions are a facet of life. Fear is a part of reality. Love has always been the answer.
Sometimes we don't feel brave. Sometimes facing our own created demons feels so overwhelmingly impossible that we don't know how to proceed. Sometimes we want to be rough around the edges because then no one can get too close. Ultimately, we know that we must transform, in order to become.
was right, and I wanted
to keep being wrong.
I wanted to keep my bad habit
like charms on a bracelet.
I did not want to be brave.
I think I like my brain best
in a bar fight with my heart.
I think I like myself a little broken,
with rough edges, a little harder
to grasp. I like poetry
better than therapy anyway.
The poems never judge me
for healing wrong.
[Clementine von Radics]
Isn't that the truth? A part of us wants to hold on to that familiar brokenness, that comforting sweet song we sing of our guilty indiscretion, painting a picture of the little box we sit in. Change is hard, and redefining yourself even harder.
"Transformation isn't sweet and bright. It is a dark and murky, painful pushing. An unraveling of the untruths you've carried in your body. A practice in facing your own created demons. A compete uprooting before becoming. {Victoria Erickson}
I've become acutely aware of how narrow minded I am in terms of religion, forgiveness, and what inclusion truly looks like. Black and white has always been my answer to most everything. Though I believe in shades of gray, I tend to try to fit everything in its box and anything that doesn't fit is just causing unnecessary chaos (in a gross simplification). But what if answers aren't that black and white? What if what one grew up with, what's been drilled into the mind, isn't exactly the answer? What if someone telling you that a + b = c doesn't actually mean that every a and b make c? Is challenging those mindsets, facing those fears, really such a bad thing? What if all that means is you are finally set free from the confinement of the walls that were set to prevent your heart from breaking when all it did was create such a pressure that a slight disturbance sends it into a thousand shattering pieces?
As I believe I've talked about before, the bible verse of God hardening Pharaoh's heart has always been a difficult one for me to grasp, for the unfairness it seemed to me. I have never been one to believe I have any authority to question God, but it has always pained me to wonder why God would take away someone's chance to understand by hardening his heart toward any kind of love. I feared that in myself, that some day I would not understand the teachings I once did, and I think that day has come. The day I once feared, however, has morphed into something far beyond what I imagined.
There is great difficulty in forgiveness. The tight grasp in not wanting to let go of things that are out of my control. The reoccurring pain I feel for situations that are of the past and no longer breathing. The darkness of dreams that seem to swallow without remorse. The self inflicted harm that feels it deserves to be there. This is the hardness of my heart. It did not come in a form I thought it would - a solidifying stone-like quality of apathy and coldness - rather, it came with a knifelike twisting, allowing blood to spill over and drown the heart that was once confident in its acceptance and now throbbed with pain, anger, and defeat. The hardness of heart took on a strangely lifelike quality, thriving in its destruction, breathing in its misery.
Facing the questions of youth, questions you never wanted to ask, takes on a whole new meaning when there's something worth fighting for. When you get a glimpse of the bigger picture, when you peak out of the box you've become so accustom to, surprising things happen.
I've spent countless years talking about faith, asking questions, digging deeper, always feeling like a coal miner with a flashlight that's batteries are causing it to flicker in and out. Like that fading connection, I've asked tirelessly and found little relief in my search for understanding. That is, until I stopped looking. Upon surrender, I discovered more than I had bargained for.
I found that the love of God is felt around you, not above you.
I found that almost nothing is black and white, but everything has its own shade of gray.
I found that freedom doesn't come with understanding, but with accepting
I found that forgiveness is a process, one that ultimately starts with patience in yourself.
I found that judgement begets judgement, and pointing fingers begets a clearer exposure of your own faults.
I found that stepping away from what I've believed has lead me to a better understanding of what exactly it is I believe.
Forgiveness is a work in progress. Questions are a facet of life. Fear is a part of reality. Love has always been the answer.
Sometimes we don't feel brave. Sometimes facing our own created demons feels so overwhelmingly impossible that we don't know how to proceed. Sometimes we want to be rough around the edges because then no one can get too close. Ultimately, we know that we must transform, in order to become.
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