I have this fear, and I’ve been aware of it for a while now, but haven’t shared it at all – perhaps once – because it feels so deeply ingrained, so deeply unique to me. In a way that, there is no way that it will ever change or be different or be something I can share (which I have felt basically about my entire being and life and self, and therapy continues to overwhelm me and heal me the way that you literally get to uncover and share your entire being, beliefs and fears – no matter how weird or uniquely and seemingly misunderstandingly ‘you’ they are), but also in the way that it is so unique to me, it won’t be anything that anyone else feels, fears or experiences, precisely like this. But perhaps in some ways, it’s not uniquely mine. The details and the story and the whole reason, is, but I reckon part of it probably can be related to by many others. It just shows up in different ways.
It’s the fear of being fully in this country. Like, the idea of really settling and being here, rather than feeling like I’m passing through. The idea of not working with my Californian therapist and feeling fully supported here Freaks. Me. Out. It’s not just fear, it feels like an actual trigger. And that feels different. Like it feels so deeply within me it’s not something positive self talk or the idea of ‘stepping outside my comfort zone’ or pushing myself would soothe or do anything, except retraumatise me more.
I remember when I was in Cali I used to say that England felt like a trigger, just the idea of it – the whole country. And it makes sense. So much sense. This is, after all – except a couple of key chunks – where all my prolonged trauma happened so OF COURSE it’s going to feel terrifying to feel like I’m fully here. Of course I am. But I have noticed that because I feel like such a New Me, my relationship with the country has changed too. Like, I am beginning to love it in ways I didn’t before. I am beginning to see it through new eyes, rather than the wounded ones I hold. But lately with the grief that feels so here these wounded eyes are very much where my vision comes from and it’s hard. It’s not the whole picture but it’s hard to know what I really see. It’s hard to know what I really feel when wounding is here so open, so pure, so raw.
But the idea of fully living here – in this country – still freaks the shit out of me even when I write that and I connect with the love and healing and newfound openness and compassion, connection, in my heart. It just feels like such old wounds. And it also feels like old patterns. Like, I have never stayed in this country for more than a year without going somewhere. In my adult years and as a kid too.
It feels absolutely terrifying the idea of really being here. Having my two feet here. It immediately makes me feel like I need to run. And anyone else who knows that feeling its one of such weight and one of such validity – one that feels as desperate as the need for food. Okay, maybe not that desperate, but it definitely feels like a panic. Perhaps that’s what’s changed. It used to be a desperate need and one I had to meet, and did. But now it feels like an ingrained pattern and need that isn’t so relevant anymore but is still here. And so it makes me panic and feel like I need to run, to get some air. Some foreign air. The idea of feeling and being fully here makes me feel like I can’t breathe. It used to feel exciting and like I wanted to leave but now it feels desperate. It’s like, the old pattern is here and it’s making me feel like I need to flee. Escape. Breathe. But it doesn’t feel healthy.
This might not make any sense, but it does in my head. And that’s what matters.