I’m afraid. Afraid of being seen, of being exposed, of being rejected, of being expelled from the group, of being attacked, of being killed. I feel fear about showing myself completely, of putting my shit on the table, of admitting my survival strategies, of speaking out, of saying what I think, of being reactive, of admitting I am reactive, of others reactivity,
I’m scared and I do it anyway, and I do it again and then again.
Each time, my heart beats furiously, my mouth goes dry, my voice shakes, the fear frantically courses through my chest, trying to escape, but going in circles. The image of an elephant on the loose in an Indian market comes to mind.
This internal circus has the effect of putting into action a freeze response survival strategy. Yet recently I am discovering I’m not quite frozen solid, it’s more like being eveloped in an icy treacle and I can move through it if I decide to. I am not a victim of my circumstances because I always have the power to decide to do something different.
It’s messy and full of self-doubt. Did I say the right thing? Will they hate me now? Now they know I am a mess.
And here I am writing this, yes I’m still alive, still at the bridgehouse and still basking in the enormous amount of love coming from each of the women here, including myself. I'm still loved and I suspect much more than before, because, how much love can a mask let in?
There is a certain kind of nourishment to being loved in my nakedness, in my being seen.
And it’s a mess, I’m a mess, and I am discovering that that’s ok, the mess is real life, it's the pretending that’s fake. I know that sounds obvious and it wasn’t to me until very recently.
And I am still scared shitless as I try things, slowly open, tentatively show more of myself as I hit bottom more and more often, which just means letting go of all the stories and justifications.
I am clumsy, like the first day at my old gym, when I didn’t know how the machines worked. At one point I sat on one the wrong way and did hip thrusts on the one meant for leg raises. It reminds me of this somehow.
I still don’t say ALL the things I want to say, the things I see and sense, the things I am hiding, not by a long shot. Then sometimes when I do it is met with reactivity, with anger, and I retreat rapidly into my shell, terrified of having stepped out too far, a dismayed voice in my head screaming “I told you so.”
I am also discovering that just because I show myself, it doesn’t mean that I automatically enter into a rosy world where everyone is perfectly open and defenceless and all our survival strategies have gone on holiday to Spain to sip sangria by the pool.
That rosy world is a fantasy. In fact I just held a listening space for a woman here who weeped as she let this same fantasy die.
And I am starting to see that radical relating is about being radically defenseless in what is, wherever that is, whoever that is with, however it is. It’s about being honest about what's going on for me, shedding the pretense and being ok with whatever mess that creates, because it's a preferable alternative, in terms of the consequences it creates, to expending huge amounts of precious life force energy holding up the masks and keeping up the farce.
And I feel immense joy to have consciously chosen to be in a place where there is nowhere to hide, where every attempt at covering up who I really am disintegrates through an ozone layer of realness held by the women here. It’s as if I am on a journey from outer space coming back home and as I start to penetrate the atmosphere of my homeland, the defense strategies and screens are ripped away by the G1 force of the space we are creating.
The warrioress women at the bridgehouse fiercely hold space for each other, hold space for ourselves to be on each other's and our own team. With grace and dignity we source healing, connection, transformation and love. It’s scary as hell and bloody wonderful.
I find it hard to believe I have been here only one week and 3 days, it seems much much longer, so much has happened, so much happens when I am radically relating, when I am with what is, when I am being with, when I am.
