I sat for a long time last week taking all of it into my heart. Trying to find the source of my unease, and at the same time the place of truth, healing, and power. Not just for me, but for those around me as well.
My desire is to surrender.
My desire is to trust.
I can’t do the first without fully extending and receiving the second.
I’m thinking of trust as a partitioned, revolving door.
There are degrees, or a range of trust extended depending on circumstance, those involved, and past experience(s).
What I am getting at are the two door stoppers; trust in myself to make the right decision for *me*, and receiving trust from others.
Trust in self is the driver of the door. If Trust in Self wavers the slightest bit, the door stops moving. It goes nowhere. No one in any of the partitions is going anywhere. We become trapped.
What I notice is that I can say “I trust you”…I can verbalize extending trust to others, but I keep the knife in front of me. It may be sheathed, but it’s on the table. Ready. I’m still looking for the dragon of mistrust to appear in front of me. I am always ready to slay the dragon. And, of course the dragon will appear simply because I am looking for it to do so, yes?
I’ve been asked to fully receive back the trust I have in another, with an open heart. To put away the knife. No, not just put it down….but to throw the dammed thing away.
Surrender the knife. Trust in myself. Extend trust to another and at the same time, fully receive that trust from another. Not push that part of it away…..
Not ask. Not push. Not prompt. Consider what I want to say with what is being shown to me.
Yikes. No easy task for one so ready to fight, ‘eh?
There are only a few I trust completely. Where the knife is not out. Where I can and do surrender. These are two longtime buddies. But that same trust is not extended or received fully to my current roommate – my Muse.
My biggest and most powerful story on “not trust” is one revolving around my parents, their lack of tangible affection, my mothers lack of validation of me as a person when I was a child and throughout adulthood. I often seem to choose the default of her beliefs imparted to me over the years. Not good enough. Not smart enough. Not wise enough. Not pretty enough. Not enough….
When I hear “you are”…..pick anything positive….pretty, smart, articulate, etc……I stiffen. The knife comes out with NOT ringing in my head. I’m ready to cut those to shreds with my default story. Not only that, but the mistrust grows. What do you want *from* me? Why me? I’m not worth it.
This story forces a default behavior as well. One of trying too hard to be something I am not. Of doing more. Of being more. All under the perception of failing. Not good enough. It’s a no win scenario as I become more and more frustrated and try even harder…
I took a good look in the mirror the other day.
I’m not a supermodel. I’m far from ugly. I’m far from plain Jane too.
For 52 years old I have a great body. It may not be “curvy” or “feminine” – there I go with the labels again – *rolls eyes* – but it’s a mature woman’s body that is relatively unblemished, but real.
I know when I’m happy….really happy…..my face lights up….my eyes show my happiness and I light others with it too.
I could go on, but you get my drift.
He told me it’s simply a matter of bad data. Bad input. Corrupt files in storage that are pulled out again and again. They no longer need to be pulled out and examined. They don’t make sense…..delete them.
He told me too, I’m not your mother, or your father, or any one of your ex-husbands, or old boyfriends you learned not to trust. I’m not them.
He keeps telling me to just be me. Just be myself. Myself is more than plenty. And stop trying so dammed hard to be everything. I’m not good at everything. LOL. Yah.
I’ve decided to surrender. Not submit. Surrender. I know I can trust my instinct. I trust my Muse. I also need to receive trust from him by taking that trust into my heart….and believing he trusts me as well.
Depression is insidious. It’s the monster under my bed I manage to keep at bay. Maybe it’s just a whole slew of expectations for myself. Medication is out. Tried them all at one time or another. They don’t do it for me. I need to feel. And I need to feel deeply.
I’ve started some different habits. Some based on the comments on My Inner Masculine. Yah. I’ve stopped poo pooing her. I’ve started calling her out.
We talked about my reluctance to dress…meaning a “dress” or “skirt” (I own plenty believe it or not), instead of ripped jeans and jersey shorts for going out…meaning the grocery store or the bank or? We talked about a bit of mascara and fixing my hair instead of my usual wild child look. Yanno, it’s not like I don’t shower or anything….I just don’t put much, if any, effort into dress or makeup. It shows. That’s changing.
It’s nice to have an objective and honest opinion.
Oh, don’t laugh. Waterproof mascara is a joy. It doesn’t melt off my face gardening or hiking or launching rockets or working in the garage.
Taking care of oneself. It feels good. I’m smiling more and laughing a lot. I am more at ease with it.