See Me Baby
The intensity of destructive judgmental thoughts swirled through my brain like thoroughbred horses galloping around a paddock. The hooves stomping on hard dirt represent one criticism after another, picking up speed and hitting my brain with intensity.
It was my 41st birthday, and I stepped out of the shower, crawled to my bedroom floor, wrapped in a towel, and called a close friend. I didn’t need a pattern interrupter; I needed to be witnessed. As the safety of my friend’s presence grounded me, the clouds of grief allowed the storm to arrive and let lightning strike.
The tears and tightness in my chest erupted with vengeance and I got fucking angry. As my face squished together in anguish, the sirens of sound escaped my throat as I gasped for air and unleashed the tension throughout my body. Dripping wet hair framed my face, and snot ran down my chin. My body shook like a washing machine on it’s final spin cycle. My friend cheered me on gently and with reverence.
“I can see the iceburg melting. You are doing so well. Keep going.”
We have been taught to view our birthdays as a milestone to be celebrated. As I grow older, I view my birthday as a portal of transformation. Whatever behavioral patterns that are meant to be released into the wild tend to slap me in the face with intensity the month leading up to May 7th.
There is a lack of flow, and it feels like a consistent drip of releasing parts of my life that are ready to move on. This year, I let go of the MASTERMIND I have been facilitating since January, and my largest client decided they were prepared to fly on their own after twenty months of working together.
I launched my new website into the world after three months of ideating on the creative process and six months of bringing it to life, bringing new energy into my business and how I embody my coaching practice. I have been led to accept changes in my closest familial relationship, as I know I deserve more than the relationship can offer, and I no longer believe in the concept of obligation to family, especially if the relationship is stifling my growth.
These expansions and contractions did not come without intense grief and joy braided together. In years past, I would have isolated in my apartment and felt the discomfort alone while attending 12-step meetings online. This year, in the theme of “See Me Baby,” which is embossed on my iPod speaker case, I decided to be visible in it all.
I took in the encouragement and continued to go deeper into the well of my sadness and anger. I didn’t worry about my friend’s capacity to be there for me, and instead took up a lot of selfish space. It felt fucking glorious. She was honored to be a witness as I moved through my grief and held me as I came out on the other side.
To me, being held in grief and pure celebratory joy are the ultimate acts of bravery as a recovering co-dependent and people pleaser. I have never not felt like a Warrior Goddess after displaying my raw emotion for someone I trust to witness.
Just like two weeks ago, when I asked a good friend, Austin, to bring some chicken noodle soup and applesauce as I was navigating the recovery from intense food poisoning. Without asking, Angel baby Austin walked into my house, gave me a huge hug, and began cleaning the dirty dishes in the sink as I received an IV Drip. Next, he put a load of laundry in before he comforted me on the couch. While I felt like I was pushing my limits by “asking for too much”, I asked for more anyway.
“May I lay my head on your lap, and can you gently caress my arm and hair?”
“Of course”, Austin replied.
I am overwhelmed with gratitude, and the intense emotion is overwhelming. The tears pour out easily, like a stream washing over the solid rocks of a waterbed. Austin’s leg is soaked with my tears as I wail and get in touch with my inner sweetness that craves tender care. I feel an overwhelming sense of gratitude for friends like Austin, and I also feel a sense of opposing anger for not having allowed myself to ask for this kind of care in the past, due to being overly independent. The joy spikes at past frozen memories of silence and holding on to inner rage, confusion, and loneliness. Both intense joy, gratitude, and sadness mix in a cocktail of release that my trusted confidant holds with grace.
When friends or clients ask me, “Why do you not experience imposter syndrome in environments or around people that are often intimidating.”
“Because I feel comfortable snot nose sobbing in front of the people that do matter. That level of intimacy is what makes it more terrifying and therefore liberating.”
The more I allow myself to ruthlessly receive from the people I care about and the ones that care about me, the more I move through the world with a deep, solid, foundational belief that “I matter”. No one, in any position of power, can take that away from me. I am the power.