I’ve had to accept some pretty awful truths about myself over the past couple of years. I’ve had to accept that I’m far less strong, discerning and functional and far more fragile, broken and lost than I thought I was. I’ve had to accept that for so many years I was hiding behind a facade that provided me with the semblance of a functional life while the real me was in hiding only making an occasional appearance.
I’ve had to accept that despite my best intentions, my dysfunction, anxiety and issues impact people who love me and who least deserve to be affected by consequences of the abuse I’ve received over the years from others.
I don’t want this to be a list of excuses or reasons why it’s not my fault that I’m so high maintenance and I’m not looking for sympathy, reassurance or explanations of how my insecurities and issues are a natural consequence of my abuse. I get that. I am very aware that I didn’t become who I am in this moment in isolation and I’m aware that failures of the two most foundational relationships in my life to this point – my parents and the 22+ year relationship with my ex-husband – have created dysfunctional emotional pathways and automatic responses that I haven’t established by choice..
I know that many of the ways I react aren’t voluntary – they’re reflexes born of a deep-seated need to protect myself and conditioned responses I developed to minimise the hurt and help maintain appearances for the first 45 years of my life.
What I want to do is apologise for the ways my dysfunction hurts those I care about who go to such lengths to reassure me over and over that I’m loved, safe, valued, and connected.
I want to say I’m so very sorry that even though you’ve given me every reason to trust you and even though I believe your words of love and encouragement, I keep a small part of myself in reserve; a small corner of my heart that I’m shielding from the disconnection I know will come when you realise that I’m so flawed and broken and unloveable.
I’m so scared that you’ll leave me without warning that I prepare myself in advance and push you away. I’m so sorry that I send you mixed messages by telling you how important you are to me then ignore you or withdraw from your attempts to reach out.
I’m sorry that I tell you through my words and actions that I don’t trust you and don’t need you. I do need you. I want so desperately to feel connected, but it’s the desperation that makes me pull back, because I’m sure that when you realise how needy I am, you’ll retreat anyway. I’m sorry that I’ve needed your support so often, and have made it so difficult for you to provide it without getting hurt in the process.
I’m sorry for texts and messages that remain unanswered and invitations that have been turned down. I feel so inadequate and lost in social situations now that I avoid them while at the same time wishing I didn’t feel so lonely and disconnected. I am trying to find a way to reconnect with the wider world, but it’s taking me a lot longer than I could ever have expected because it’s hard to connect when I don’t have any sense of who I am.
I’m sorry that sometimes when it all just seems too much and I want to run away and hide, I run away from you as well even though you aren’t part of the problem. I’m sorry for the times my rejection has hurt you.
I am sorry that I respond to emotional triggers you can’t predict or control, and that your attempts at conversation and support so often result in tears and emotional monologues about how awful I am. I’m sorry that I filter your words through my insecurities to hear messages that you never intend and that I am so bad at stopping the chain-reaction of negative thoughts once I start down that path. I’m sorry that so many of our conversations end up in you offering reassurance and comfort with your original words and message lost amidst the tears and anxiety. I’m sorry that I ask for your honesty, then punish you by responding so badly when you give it to me.
I’m so sorry that the battle inside my head between being myself and being who I think everyone else needs me to be results in such a mess of emotions and thoughts and that you’re so often left with no possible way of navigating a conversation without it ending in distress and tears. I hate that I’m so conditioned to focus on what other people want or need me to be, that it takes so much effort to simply be myself.
I’m sorry that my insecurities and confusion and constant sense of overwhelm mean that so often when you need me I’m caught up in the mess inside my head and I either don’t see your needs or respond to them in a way that isn’t helpful. I feel this most keenly with my children and I hope as they grow older they’ll forgive me for the times I’ve let them down and made it so much harder for them to process the huge changes that have happened in their lives in the past couple of years.
I am grateful that I have such wonderful, compassionate, caring children who have been so incredibly forgiving of the difficulty I’ve had navigating us all safely through our lives over the past few years. I remain constantly surprised at my good fortune having such a wonderful man in my life who loves me so much that he’s willing to walk beside me as I slowly, slowly work through the mess inside my head and heart and attempt to find myself amidst the rubble of my old life. I am thankful for the wonderful friends who have withstood my neglect and confusion and tears to continue to reach out to me in support in moments when I’m unable to stand alone and for those friends who have simply continued to be themselves and share in a way that gives me moments of normality amidst the emotional challenges.
The process of dealing with my past and my abuse has been exhausting. I have only come as far as I have because so many people have loved and cared for me and helped me in so many ways to remain connected despite my belief that I’m neither capable nor deserving of connection and love.
I am sorry that this process is so difficult, for myself and for those closest to me, and even though I can’t always show it, I am grateful that you haven’t given up on me. Thank you. x