Sometimes I feel compelled to write even when I have nothing to say. It has become a way of conversing with myself and not allowing my solitude to transform into loneliness.
I am slightly less interested in what people have to say about me even when I am open and full of love. I don’t feel like being dug into; I want to dig here on this blog or while I look out the window. I currently resent therapy for the way it forces me to explore at a designated time and hour. The healing power of being witnessed currently means less to me.
I used to dream of finding a good interpersonal therapy group where now that sounds like a nightmare. I do not wish to receive feedback by anyone other than my small handful of loved ones.
In my history I have used retreat, avoidance and collapse as a way of coping. But I know that my current desire to flee therapy and to speak less is not avoidance because my heart sees beauty everywhere. I feel so much love. That is not collapse—those are signs of being fully alive.
Some would say I am not really living if I’m not traveling or in a partnership or if I don’t have children or attend social gatherings (or at least the voices I have internalized would). But I get more out of a walk to a bad restaurant than many do after a weekend in Paris. And I have more sensuality and romance in my “lonely” life than many couples have in theirs.
I realize now that the flip side of my trauma is that it forced me to learn to be with myself. And I’m tired of fighting that. My heart remains open to change but for now I would like to look out my window or have quiet coffee time with a friend who knows me even when I do not speak.
This desire for quiet retreat and quiet company is not a way of avoiding life: it’s a way of feeling alive.