Beliefs

I hate harmful beliefs.

I spend time around so many people with the most harmful beliefs, and I just can't stand it.
I feel terrible hearing them all the time, understanding how harmful those beliefs can be, and it being the social norm.

But whats worse, I hate my harmful beliefs.
For the most part I think I'm doing pretty good.
But sometimes I find myself face to face with another harmful belief, one that I have, and one that I don't know what to do with.
Those times are hard.

As much as I know I want to believe myself to be an equal, sometimes I still don't.
As much as I know I don't want to give away my individual power, sometimes I still do.
As much as I know I don't want to use tactic of control, sometimes I still try.

Those times are scary for me.
Scary because being so unhealthy has been really harmful to me in the past.
But this fear isn't helping.

Acceptance.

I'm starting to wonder if there are more side-effects than I'd first thought. I mean, there should be...

It seems like anything, no matter how small, has the potential to put me in an emotional state that is much stronger than it normally would be and much harder for me to shake.

Which is horrible because socially I'm just being an emotional woman, socially there is something wrong with me. And there isn't support to help me navigate it, or patience to allow me to understand myself in this new way and begin to be balanced again.

I loved where I was at, how balanced I was, so this is difficult.

For now, I might be angry - for a day and a half, instead of ten minutes. And I might cry when my dad uses an unfriendly tone. And I don't know why. 

But I'd love it if people allowed me to be human.

Thanks, but no thanks.

I was that kid.

The slightly chubby & absolutely awkward child whose hair was always creased in all the wrong ways and whose clothing style, if the word style were applicable, was eclectic - but not in a good way.

I was better at having conversations with adults than with kids my own age, but I suppose it's because they'd had more experience in communicating with awkward people. Perhaps it was all a bit endearing.

I had little, if any, interests or hobbies of my own. I'd try to adapt myself to the interests of others - because I wanted to be interesting too, but really that's not the kind of interesting that I was.

The one thing I did always have - my own opinions. Yes, they were influenced by the thoughts of others, of course. But I was the first one to shout out about perceived injustice - even though that meant I was picked on and belittled.

I survived middle & high school by trying to blend in, and through a mix of kindness and intelligence. Still, my opinions ousted me regularly as I made enemies by calling out bullies or refusing to play social games.

My opinions themselves have changed a thousand times over. They've been reworked and reframed, they've evolved, been created, and been abolished. They are fluid. 

But they are strong. They make me strong. They're were my motivation, for so many things. They were, inside me, a driving force for reinvention and discovery and growth. 

I am no awkward child anymore. I thrive socially, I have a deep interest in many things, I have a good sense of style (though my hair may still be a little funny) and I still am quick to stand up for the things I believe in.

To this day (literally, just today) people will  caution me against them, or belittle me for them.

As if I am not the best person to understand what beliefs and opinions I should want to have at any given time.

Or they're intimidated and villianize me for them.

As if I only have and use them as a weapon to yield.

But I go on. It's part of who I am - and that's not about to change.

My Body, My (limited, lousy, consequence-ridden) Choice. But its ALL MINE.

I'd say I handled things pretty well, am handling things well - especially in consideration of my experiences with patriarchy and control. But I definitely found myself thinking more than once that, "being a woman is the best and WORST thing I could ever be."

I researched, a lot.

At first it was difficult because, as a woman, all of my options are terrible. Just awful. The few times he tried to empathize I became angry, and expressed it, because my cost is so much greater if I take responsibility and so much greater if I don't, then his will ever be. Of all the people to direct anger towards, he is not the one - he's understanding, and compassionate - and he doesn't like any of this either. But in that moment I was angry at how unfair the whole thing is, I was angry that because I'm a woman, in this culture - things are the way they are, and really - I was angry because I was afraid.

And when I made the decision for which method I was going to try, I knew it was going to be difficult.
I anticipated physical pain, a lot of it. And I very carefully evaluated my mental stability as well.
Would this trigger any traumas for me?
Is this something I actually am choosing to do, or feel forced to do?
How would this make me feel?

I decided, rather than allowing this to be yet another form of control over my body - that I was going to use it to liberate myself. (It helped that I appreciate the heart of the clinic that I went to.)
Yeah, my options suck - but I chose one because I know what I want to do with my body, and I know what I DON'T want to happen if I do what I want with my body.

So, I took matters into my own hands.
I made my consultation appointment, and asked tons of questions. I was super direct with my doctor in asking her practice style and informing her of my expectations because of past traumas. And then I had two weeks to wait.
I spent those two weeks practicing deep breathing exercises - so that during the procedure it would be easier for me to enter a peaceful and calm state. I planned for the right support during and after the procedure. I talked about it, often, because I wanted to normalize and accept that it was coming. I set up everything that I could need for recovery and took time off of work.
And that morning - I was fine. My stomach was a little jittery in anticipation, but I was still calm enough to breathe. I made jokes in the beginning of the appointment, and just focused on remaining really calm.

I had done everything within my power to be prepared, so imagine my disappointment when the pain became so unbearable that the my doctor refused to continue with the procedure. I had not expected that.
She tried to go over other options with me, but I didn't want to deal with any of that, I was too upset.
I felt so disappointed in myself - I had hoped to liberate myself, and couldn't in that way - so I felt like I had failed. Like I was weak. Why couldn't I have just pushed through the pain?! And I cried. I thought everyone that was a part of it was ashamed of me, because I was ashamed of me - it took me a while to be okay with admitting what had happened.
See, I grew up learning a very wrong idea of what strong is - and in those moments, those unhealthy beliefs and fear took charge.
And to top it all off, I still didn't have a solution - let alone the solution I had thought was best.
He suggested I try again, because he knows how much I had been wanting my decision to work out - but that just made me angry, because the physical pain was far too great.

My options B & C are... alright. I have gotten used to the idea of them, though I still liked option A, a lot. This time I'm less dead-set on either. I'm just trying one out for now, seeing how it works & then I'll go from there.


I may not have things figured out - but I will say, I am strong. Damn strong, a different kind of strong.
And though I still may rant about how horrible everything is - I'm no where near about to give up.