I have found myself neglecting my writing. Worse, I have also found myself neglecting myself. Something I have done in the past, and more importantly, for the past seven years. Knowingly. And I haven’t stopped.
I’ve regressed back to the confidence issues I’ve carried since childhood, and it has been a long road. Battling through years of trauma from abuse and neglect, I came full circle in 2019 and found myself, once again, that scared little boy who was told he was never good enough. Was beat and spoke to into submission. It took me a few decades to shake him, and only a few months of life-altering situations to bring him back.
Here I am. Again.
To be honest, and forthcoming, I wouldn’t have made it this far in the past seven years without the help of therapy. My life crashed back in 2019, and the years afterwards were non-stop chapters of change, denial, and self-inflicted abuse. The therapy was the only tool that worked. It is also about finding the right therapist.
I am done.
I think this is where we all should be, done with whatever keeps dragging us back, but that is easier said than done. Much easier said.
About a week ago, after meeting with my therapist, I realized what I had done. Reverting to past feelings, fears, and self-imagery that were irrational and not relevant to today. I found myself “skating” through life instead of living my life. I knew, I knew all along, I just let the old me take the wheel.
I’ve pulled away from people in favor of spending time with myself, my guitars, and my beloved animals. Some of that has been healing, and some of it, if I’m honest, has been hiding. Cutting off all communication with “family,” whose toxicity inflames a deeply confined rage inside of me, has been the healthiest thing I’ve done. That rage is pure, unadulterated harm from mental abuse, physical abuse, and the constant manipulation and negativity they brought into my life. Thing is that I don’t have to put up with it. No one does. Cut the cord.
My career has taken a turn for the better, but I’ve found myself back in the same rut I’ve been in before. People taking advantage of me and me being submissive to it. I’m not claiming to be some dominant personality, but I sure as hell am not a passenger.
It’s time.
I’m not talking about some big reinvention. I’ve tried those, and they have a way of falling apart the minute life gets loud again. I’m talking about the smaller stuff, which somehow turns out to be harder.
When someone at work leans on me, I’m leaning back, and I’m done apologizing for it before anyone has even asked me to. What I work through in therapy is going to leave the room with me instead of staying behind in the session. And the handful of people who have actually earned a place in my life are going to hear from me again, because cutting the cord on the ones who hurt me was never supposed to mean cutting myself off from everyone.
And I’m going to write. Write music, write this blog. Somewhere in all of this I figured out the writing didn’t slip because I was busy, whatever I told myself. It slipped because writing means sitting still with yourself, and I hadn’t wanted to do that in years. So, this is me, sitting down.
That scared little boy is still in there. I don’t think he ever fully leaves, and I’ve quit waiting for him to. He just doesn’t get the wheel anymore.
DAK