On a scale of 1 - 100, how problematic is this post? Especially when that "friend" is 100% likely to read this?
Posts like this are extremely hard to write, so I will start at the end.
I hate vulnerability. In fact, to hell with it! I’d quite like to retract this vulnerability mantra I've given myself, as some things are better left unsaid. Not everydayyyy must I do open heart surgery in a space full of people who will just say "omg thanks Ami that was deep". I mean, that's nice but jeez, after telling you all that, at the very least, I might need you to stitch me back up again. Yet unfortunately, that's not how this damn thing works.
My mind has been going 100 miles per hour these past few weeks, full of stuff I’ve been desperate to say but struggling with how to articulate it. Ashamed of what the response might be, but critical at the fact that I’ve chosen to be vulnerable and therefore that’s what people expect of me.
Writing to me is therapy, but I'm also aware that these posts live on a public platform for everyone to see. And I can't blame anyone for that. I designed this space for that very purpose. I wanted to be vulnerable - out loud!
Well vulnerability sucks! Every time I share I get the biggest ‘vulnerability hangover’ the following morning. I get sick to my stomach, regretting every word I’ve said. I curl up in my bed, wrapped under my duvet, hoping that the mattress would somehow swallow me whole and bring me back to the previous day - to the moment before I grew wings and decided I needed to be the worlds spokesperson on emotional heart issues. But much to my dismay, before my bed gets the chance to do me that favour, my excitable 4-year-old comes into my room and body slams me back into reality, with the instant cries of "Mummy I want breakfast!!". I'm not being funny but, WHO WANTS BREAKFAST THE SECOND THEY OPEN THEIR EYES?! Seriously, this is a problem! *major MAJOR side eye*
Now I know you care less about my mornings as a mother, and more about how I ended up falling in love with my friend, and then how he rejected me. Well, it's a wild story. Ever so slightly embarrassing. And 100% vulnerable if I was to tell you all the details. Have you ever come close to what that feels like? To dig deep and tell the world something so private.
I reached out to a friend recently and told her my story, right to the bare bones. All the juicy and ugly stuff and boy oh boy she was stunned. She couldn't believe I'd experienced all of that and still held my head high to this very day. I don't know how I've kept going, but I guess part of the process is recognising my place in this story, and realising I haven't always been the victim. It's easier to see myself as the victim, but it's not always the role I've played. Sometimes you see the fire and your curiosity leads you to touch. You realise it's fun, exciting, so you touch it again. This time it's exhilarating cos you didn't get burnt, so you play with it some more until you do.
I am not the victim in my story.
I had a failed relationship with my friend... It cuts more when you say it out loud. It also sounds a little crazy, and a tad beggy. It's funny though (It's not). It was a mess. Imagine liking someone and they don't like you back, in that way. But you only know this when you tell them. After you laid it all out on the table and the response isn't what you wanted.
Now you can't blame them because they have to stay true to themselves, and if they don't like you they don't like you. Who am I to get upset about that. Maybe the timing wasn't right. Maybe I just wasn't their type. Maybe they did like me but it's complicated and they didn't have the words to speak. Or MAYBE it just wasn't meant to be.
It made me sick.
I honestly think we place too much pressure on other people (and things) to be to us what we want them to be. We overstretch our expectations, then get crushed and play the victim when they don't meet them. You only have yourself to blame. Yet it's not a blame game, it's a learning curve.
A lack of boundaries occurs when where we blur the lines between where we end and where the other person begins. Physical boundaries are easy to see, but emotional ones are far harder to spot.
Virtual ones too..
That's why you've made me feel this way. Not quite you. But you. When I served myself up at the operating table, cut open my wounds and left you with the tools like you were the expert in how to fix me. I have this expectation that you'll respond in a way that appeases me, validates me and lets me know that I'm not alone. Or maybe you will go one step further and tell me your story.
Are we still talking about my friend?
My writing journey has helped me realise people respond differently to the information you put out there. It would be selfish of me to confess that you rejected me. Instead, you just played your part in the story, and I played the victim - until I realised I wasn't, and neither were you.
Some things are just better left unsaid. But then again, we learn. And to learn is to unlearn. To discover something new is to question what you already know. And that's why I'm rethinking vulnerability, friend.
I wasn't ready to arrive here so soon. In fact, I never thought I'd arrive here at all - at the point where all I thought I knew, now makes no sense. Have you been there? This is a true story by the way. I'm here right now, and it's making me feel sick. The uncertainly of not knowing what I thought I knew about vulnerability. It didn't embrace me how I thought it would.
So my final thought is this... question everything you think to be true. Take ownership of yourself and yourself only. And don't blame the process, as the process is there to serve you.
Timing is everything.
Maybe I'll see you in my next post?