I’ve realized something lately about how I step back from my gut feeling and analyze things before coming up with a decision or conclusion. In fact I reckon we have a society that loves doing that too but I’m not going to go into that now.
Its funny how this seems sensible. It’s funny that what is actually a disability is seen as an ability. I’ve always prided myself on my disability to put forward an impenetrable argument in written words. I kind of like that I can do it well, so I’m always up for the written debate – come on, try me on – get in the ring with me and my keyboard!
But there’s something behind this shallow exterior. It’s gooey and it’s dirty and I don’t want to look at it for too long – so much so that it even becomes an it – not me but it. The fact is it’s me, the face in the mirror I don’t want to see.
The important thing to know about all this is that I’ve even deluded myself about how not trusting my feelings gives me the power to not be manipulated, when in fact its the opposite. I’ve carried this from the many times as a boy I was told my feeling was wrong – I’m too sensitive I was told over and over again, so rather than feeling the truth about others, I resigned to the idea that I could be wrong and not just that, I probably am wrong – so if that person treated me without love, then how could I know that for certain. I cant, no – don’t want to know – so I believed the value of saying – so let’s consider it logically.
Now that’s when I’m caught in an intellectual roundabout that leaves me with that big wall that blocks me from going any further – it’s the wall where it is written that there is no truth. Translated: I always give the person the benefit if the doubt and all that time I’m actually wide open for manipulation.
The alternative is the little boy feeling the pain of the wounds inflicted by mummy’s and daddy’s retracted love. The pain conveniently stifled by the internalized doubt about my own sense – the compass pointing to the presence and the absence of love. So self doubt has nothing to do with confidence but has everything to do with denying truth to avoid feeling unloved, unwanted or even more actively despised by those we most need to feel loved, wanted and cherished every single day.
The fact that this is unrealistic doesn’t relinquish the fact that this wounds us – it tells us that being wounded is realistic when wounded people primarily parent, or even befriend or partner with. I myself am a very wounded parent and no one else but me can start the process of healing and no longer inflicting wounds.
Love heals. The most perfect love, the love that is Gods for me, for you, for all uniquely and unlimitedly is also the most healing. How could this be anything other?