The truth is, sometimes I have just as hard of a time admitting the good things as I do the bad. I consider it might be a fear of pride, ego, stepping in. More likely it’s the idea that I’ve believed I was the bad for so long that accepting the good in me sound intimidating, arrogant even. I think back to my first few months in therapy and remember confessing that getting better sounded terrifying because if I healed the broken parts of me, maybe there wouldn’t be anything left that I recognized.
Not all of my broken parts are healed. I can’t even really say that I’m better – just different. Sometimes, it’s true, I don’t recognize myself as the person I was when I said that. It’s not as scary as I thought though because the change has been allowing love, acceptance, and gratitude into my life and it’s hard to be scared when they’re present.
Confessionals
I always wonder about the things that people leave behind so readily
Wandering through forgotten buildings, schools, churches
I pause at the busted-up confessionals and try to imagine what demons were unleashed there
Chew on the idea that I’ve been blinded by the continuous bashing
But maybe the blinding, anonymity, is the real issue here
maybe we need to see what’s mirrored back as we reveal our demons
never to take on judgment but to consider a new perspective
But confessionals were never my style so I’ve gone back to therapy
Sometimes just for a place to let out the worst parts of me,
let them accompany me to the couch, relax.
She doesn’t always laugh when I want her to – my therapist, I mean, not my demons
but she has never gotten up and ran out of the room
she has never belittled me or shamed me
and my darkness feels safe there too
Maybe it’s the confessional of our generation
when we learned that priests aren’t even safe from temptation
Sometimes… they put on a good act.
I imagine it’s easy when you’re sitting on the other side of a screen – convenient anonymity
You see we don’t need to be forgiven
by this other human being, walking around sinning, religiously
We need to be heard and we need to be seen
We need to spill our guts, unapologetically
No one running out of the room, hiding behind a screen
We need to know we’re not alone
And I know I’m not alone
Usually, maybe only, when there’s transparency.
Much love, until next time.
Madeline May I... 