Sunday, July 25, 2010

for colored girl’s who’ve considered therapy when life is just too much


Sent to you by moya via Google Reader:


via This Side Of The Wall on 7/24/10


"I have come to believe over and over again that what is most important to me must be spoken, made verbal and shared, even at the risk of having it bruised or misunderstood." –Audre Lorde

Yesterday I had an epiphany.

There is far too much weight placed on these shoulders. Although they are broad, and I'm a grown woman, I'm tired of carrying it alone.  So I've decided to see a therapist.

Ok, so that's not exactly earth-shattering. But this is kind of a big deal.

Yesterday I was reading, Jo's essay about patriarchy and how it can literally kill, and it just brought so many thoughts to the forefront of my mind. Her argument centered around the fact that not allowing yourself to be vulnerable can be detrimental to yourself and others. Stay with me.

You see, Brooklyn boy and I are still talking. Despite our decision to step back a few weeks ago, we have kept up our discourse. The other night we had a particularly thorny conversation and I held my tongue, in the interest of keeping the peace (Or keeping a piece for myself, which I have always done). But I went to bed cursing. After reading her piece, however, I saw how…unproductive keeping shit bottled up can be and I just spilled. My mind spilled all over the email and he responded in the same manner. Vulnerable. No fear of being open. No fear of not looking good or being judged. Just. Open.

That got me to thinking.

I tend to live inside my head. I will over-think things to DEATH. I have conversations inside my head, and respond to people, passionately (in my head), but won't do so in person. It's almost like I have dual parts of myself. The "real" Britni, who's all passion and fire and quirks, and the calm, aloof, too-cool-for-school Britni who is quick witted and is able to hide behind a silver tongue. Both of these are parts of the whole, but rarely does the "real" Britni show herself, bare and uncaring of what others think.

The other thing Jo's essay brought up is the fact I have some unresolved issues with Beloved. This thing with Brooklyn Boy, the fact that after years of not speaking, we are this close this fast says a lot about what I need and want. Beloved and I have been disconnected for nearly a year. He is in solitary and cannot make calls. He rarely writes, and the last time I saw him was February. It's been hard. This situation with Brooklyn Boy came at THE worst and THE best time. Worst because it's easier for me to fall, have real feelings. Best because I need(ed) the intimacy of having someone get to know me, care about me, be worried about ME for once. This Brookly Boy conundrum has also highlighted the fact that, although I love Beloved with my whole heart, I have some unresolved anger at him. It is because of his choices that I'm forced to live this abnormal life. His decisions put us here. And that pisses me off.

All of these things swirl around in my head. They rarely gain escape save for a few confessional-type blog post or poems. But I have not and do not speak them aloud. I'm starting to see that this is not how life should work. I don't want to resent Beloved. I don't want to walk around, mind full, waiting to explode. I don't want to constantly question if my decisions are good or if I'm just crazy. What I want is a normal life. A normal load. The ability to be my whole self, no matter how weird, or how quirky, or how Punky Brewster I may be. I want to be me. And not care what people say or think.

Deciding to call a therapist is big. It's scary. But it's also the first step in getting to the life I want. So I'm going to jump at it and hold on.



have you been to therapy?

did it help/hurt?

have you thought about going? what's stopping you?

*shout out to all of you guys who were SO supportive of my decision to seek help when i tweeted about it. y'all are AH-MAY-ZING! 


Things you can do from here:


1 comment:

Luna said...

Chile, I got my ass up one day and decided that therapy was for me when I realized that I was holding in anger, sadness, and causing myself mental anxiety, stress, and a host of other things. Black women are so used to trying to the fit the strong b.w. stereotype that we forget to take ourselves. Not I. I needed to go. I had to go.

And so I went.

Best decision I could've made thus far.