The Story Unfolds

I often ponder memories of the past version of me, the one that not too many months ago could only really tell stories, who did not understand her feelings and certainly did not allow herself to feel them, who was misguided and going in all kinds of directions in the waves of resistance I was experiencing.


Because I was so deep in the story, because I was resisting seeing my life as it was in the present moment, I was unable to witness the story, because the story was my truth. The story of the future was my only destination, escaping my feelings through removing everyone in my life who triggered my deeper feelings that I was quite clearly avoiding was easier than communicating my feelings or taking a deeper look at them within me.

Sometimes we don't even know we are telling ourselves stories, I sure didn't. I thought, in concept I was doing everything right, I was raising my awareness to my feelings, looking at the "bad" feelings and trying to make it make sense and here's the thing about that, it doesn't make sense if the story says one thing and your true feelings say another.

It's confusing.

It's hard to make a choice.

Because of this contrast between the story (ego, mind) and the feeling (heart).

For instance, I made some pretty crappy calls in my life when I was listening to the stories over my true feelings. The story was that I was almost always the victim, everything was happening to me and I couldn't change it, so I adapted to almost any and all situations / interactions with others because I needed their approval to be "human". And because of this programming, my choices were made from this space, from my subconscious layer, from the story "adapt or be alone" and I always chose to blend in, instead of my natural energy of stand out.

This restricted and restrained all the best parts of me, and overtime I became so far removed from them I barely remembered the parts of me I now love and adore. They were a distant memory, just out of sight.

The story I used to survive became such a part of me, I didn't know who I was, and in that confusion I chose to be like everyone else except me. Building a bit of resentment, trying not to rock the boat with others, to my own detriment as I was burying more and more of me with every "yes" when I meant "no", with every agreement with someone's opinion I very much opposed, with every judgement I made upon another for being exactly what I desired to be.

The story deepened, until I didn't know who I was anymore, I couldn't remember what was important to me, and I certainly did not know how to feel my feelings.

It's funny thinking back now, because people would tell me I feel, well, alot. As someone who was diagnosed clinically depressed most of her 20s, those feelings, were me resisting, the "it's too hard" narratives were me resisting allowing myself to feel whatever I was feeling my mind perceived it as "bad", "wrong", or "scary" in some way. I'm not truly convinced I ever allowed myself to feel, well anything much at all, eventhough on the surface it looked like I felt everything, thinking back I could never exactly place how I felt when I was depressed. Sometimes it was anger or sadness, but sometimes it was more and I could not understand it until much later in my life.

That resistance, can feel like a sinking ship, it can feel impossible, it can feel like despair. That is how I felt, quite often in my life.

How could I not?

I was so far removed from who I actually was, within the stories I told myself to survive, and pull me farther and farther from well me.


I recognized I was the only one who could fix that.


Not by myself.