Twirling

Relationships are a long-feared territory for me.

My weak attempts at commitment over the years have either fallen apart quickly or left me with fragmented emotions that I refused to acknowledge.

This new frontier in my now-semi-stable life is daunting. In relationships, even casual acquaintances, my thoughts are flooded with insecurities, second-guesses of my words or actions, desperation to know what the other people may think or feel about me. I cling too hard to some and then push them away in fear that I may be burdening them. Though I’ve managed to remain sober for some time, to rebuild many areas of my life, this realm of reality remains completely befuddling.

The hardest parts come when I attempt minor romantic relationships. Dating, for me, is like walking across a shaky catwalk with no railings. I’m reaching out for any form of stability, my arms waving wildly in the air, my heart pounding in my ears. The confusing part about dating is that I start dates feeling seemingly confident. I even relax a little at first and try to have fun… that is until I’m asked to speak about myself, to share details about who I am, what I want.  Honestly, the answers to these questions are still elusive, even to me.

And when my mind comes up blank in response to the questions, I feel guilt for bringing someone who is willing to give, to confide, to be vulnerable… on a date with me, a girl with no clue what she’s even doing sitting in that restaurant.

I know that I feel lonely. I know that I crave security, dependency, companionship.

I know that I want to try.

So lately, I’ve been taking one step forward in this dance called dating.

I accept an offer for dinner, I dress up, I smile and crack jokes. I even receive a good night kiss…

…and then, when I’m left alone again, I freeze.

My thoughts start to spin. My fears kick in about whether I feel the way I’m supposed to feel, whether I’ve been genuine, whether this person will hurt me just like those in my past. I start asking myself those same questions of who I am, whether I can be vulnerable, and what it is that f*cking want?

Then, after a moment’s pause in the dance, I make my trademark move: I twirl.

My foot angles sideways, my other foot plants itself beside the other, my body spins so I’m facing away and I distance myself yet again.

Once again, I stop the dance before it begins.

I reach out, then step away.

Twirling. I can’t think of a better metaphor for how I feel in relationships these days. I start to move, to participate in a dance with another person. I feel willing to give someone a chance, and then…just as they get close enough to touch, I spin away from them. I twirl in space, so they can’t hold me still.

I know this must get easier one day. One day, there’ll be some person who makes it easy to stay still, to keep my eyes on theirs, to let them hold me in their arms. Sometimes, I even think I’ve found it. But maybe like everything else in recovery, it will just take time.

After all, I’ve been dancing alone for a very long time. Adding a partner requires learning a new dance.

Naked

I’m taking a drawing class for fun this semester and this past week, we practiced drawing the human figure. Nude models came and posed for us so that we could see the natural curves and angles of the body, transferring what we see into a two-dimensional image on paper.

I had never drawn a nude model before and ironically, I was more nervous than the models, themselves. The idea of exposing myself, vulnerable and naked, in front of a crowd of strangers seemed unfathomable to me. And yet, this was something that these people did with such ease. They were calm, relaxed, comfortable. After a while, the nerves left me and instead, I felt this overwhelming sense of awe and appreciation.

After all, what is a body but a collection of shapes, lines and curves? Like a still-life, a flower, vase or bowl of fruit, it is beautiful simply because it is. We all hold insecurities about the size, the shape, the scars or wrinkles we carry on our bodies, but from the perspective of an artist, there is no judgment, there is simply what is seen. And these models knew that. They were not afraid of showing what was natural, because a body was simply that, a body.

As I guided my eyes along the rounded edges of the man’s belly, or traced the indent that lined the vertebrae of the woman’s spine… I came to appreciate how truly breathtaking the human body really is. I scorned myself for my initial, reflexive judgments and my general criticisms I hold for my own figure, because it shows my utter disrespect for the beautiful gift that is my body.

As I slowly copied the figure in front of me onto the white paper beneath my charcoal-covered palm, I began to notice intricate details:

The strength and stability of the muscles in the man’s legs.

The slow rise and fall of the woman’s ribs, evidence of her healthy lungs.

The shapely form of the man’s back as he raised his arms over his head.

The delicate lines around the woman’s mouth, proof of a past filled with smiles.

These people displayed their bodies with confidence. They respected their physical selves, they appreciated the strength they received from their muscles and bones, they were not afraid of loving themselves and displaying that love publicly.

I am grateful for this perspective, for this display of human beauty. In my own life, this is a rare phenomenon, one that I might even label strange. But I wish it weren’t that way.

I doubt that I will ever have the confidence to stand nude in front of a crowd of strangers. I do, however, pray that I can one day, show some appreciation and acceptance for my body as these people so willingly and easily displayed to us all.

That, in itself, is a masterpiece.

No More Apologies

As far back as I can remember, I’ve made unnecessary apologies. I’ve apologized for my own tiny mistakes, for other people’s mistakes, for others being upset, or for events that were entirely out of my control. I can’t decide whether this repetition of mine was out of insecurity, low self-worth, or perhaps, even selfishness? Did I believe that I really had the power to influence the lives of others and all events around me? The idea that everything was my fault seems a little self-absorbed despite it being self-depricating.

Regardless of the reason behind it, I still find myself saying “I’m sorry,” as if it were a reflex, on a daily basis. Yesterday, when someone bumped into me at work, I apologized. When another person dropped something on the floor, I said “I’m sorry” and picked it up. Even sometimes, when someone makes an apology to me… I feel the need to find my own role in their mistake, positive that I did something to lead them into making the wrong decision. Sometimes, it makes people angry or annoyed when I say “I’m sorry” over and over. People have to tell me to stop saying it. And then, ironically, I apologize for saying “I’m sorry.” Go figure. 

With past therapists, I’ve discussed old habits, or what they called, “old scripts,” behaviors or ways of thinking that fed my beliefs that I was worthless, unloveable, defective. “I’m sorry” was a repetitious line in those old scripts. When I was young, by comparing myself to others in my family or circle of friends, I focused only on my flaws. As these judgments evolved and as I absorbed the criticism of others, I lowered myself to a platform far below the rest of the world’s population. I came to believe in my heart that I truly was worthless, inferior to everyone else with no hope of rising back to their level.

Perhaps this self-degredation led me to believe that whenever things went wrong around me, the fault had to be mine because I was the one who was defective. Through my eyes, I saw perfection in everyone else. And if they were perfect, the blame for the mistake must be mine and only mine.

Though I’ve reflected on these old scripts and thought patterns and worked hard to derail them, I’m not sure if you can ever be fully rid of something that you believed in so strongly for so long. Your confidence may improve throughout life, but do your insecurities, your past beliefs (however false they may be), ever really leave you? Does that voice that tells you you’re worthless ever really diminish and stay mute? Maybe not.

But I do know that that voice is growing quieter. I do know that though those old beliefs may never be entirely uprooted, we can plant new ones and nurture them to tower over those of the past. It’s slowly becoming easier to focus on these new beliefs that are flowering in my garden of thoughts. They tell me that I’m “beautiful,” “worthy,” “strong.” They tell me that I can bring good to this world rather than leave it marred by my presence.

I no longer feel the need to apologize for my existence.

For once, I’m beginning to take back all of those unnecessary “I’m sorry”s.

Because I’m starting to believe that I’m not sorry, that it’s not always my fault.

I’m not sorry for the way that I look.

I’m not sorry for speaking my truth.

I’m not sorry for believing myself worthy… Because guess what? I am.