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| Source:jnkhoury.blogspot.co.uk |
I’ve always had a problem with letting go.
I suffered a lot when I was 14 and forced to move away from
the seaside resort I grew up in, to a ‘boring’ small town in the ‘middle of
nowhere’ (in my own teenage words) after my parents’ marriage finally decomposed beyond repair. Having to
leave my friends behind, the sweet linden infused summer nights when we used to
go to the open air cinema, the salt on my skin, the sing song of the birds
outside my windows, the toys I used to play with, the books I used to read
(over and over again), having to let go of the only universe I had ever known was an experience I wish no teenager to go through. I spent most of my high-school
years lamenting over the lost paradise of childhood, writing dark poetry and
generally being resentful of everyone and everything.
Think that’s when my pattern of refusal to let go started. I
remember I cried that summer when I realised I wasn’t a child anymore and
decided I wasn’t ready to grow up. My childhood's been a fuzzy mix of happy days
(I was and generally am an extremely naturally happy person) and dark episodes
of witnessing my father’s pshychologic abuse towards my mother and her fragile
mental health manifesting itself in ways a child should not see. I was a child who was never told none of it was
really my fault. I felt robbed of
childhood and couldn’t accept it was gone, without me having a say in it, so I hold on to it for dear life. I got
over it eventually but the process took a lot longer and somehow turned me into
this person who keeps clinging to things and people like in a karmic Ferris
wheel.
This year has been a year of such breakthrough for me. I
have broken so many destructive patterns, I have become so much more aware of
the deep essence of things, so much more understanding, so much more nurturing
towards myself, and that’s why I find it tough that, whenever I break a pattern, another
one shows its ugly head.
One of the compulsive behaviours I’ve had for instance with men was wanting to
end things on my terms, to speak my mind (or was it my mind I was
speaking?...), to give myself a bloody closure. I can recall many embarrassing episodes of messages I sent men
telling them off for leading me on and then apologising for my behaviour. Boy,
I do apologise a lot. It’s like a freaking disease. I can also recall episodes
of trying to lure them back into my life despite them having told me the game
was off. And every single one of these episodes left me more humiliated.
Apparently, according to science, this is the way I was dealing in adulthood with my father’s 'abandonment'.
My father… My father was a pilot. He was beautiful,
charming, clever and seductive. But he was also a very damaged person. But he was my father and I adored him. I think he
adored me too. But he has never been equipped with the nurturing qualities a
father should have. He was a victim of his own fears and insecurities and has
never provided me with the love and protection a growing child needs. And he
died when I was 18 so we were never able to talk about our relationship and
make peace.
But somehow I resolved to forgive my father. I thought that
would bring me the relief I’ve been looking for in my dealings with the world. And
thankfully it did help me make extraordinary progress in my relationships so
far. But I am not healed just yet. I think that possibly a piece of the
puzzle is still missing: I have never resolved to mourn for myself, for the
little girl whose childhood got stolen.
Even as I child, all I wanted to do was big myself up, become
stronger, bolder, louder, smarter, as a way of dealing with loss rather than
accept my vulnerability, feel the pain and move on. And I became this noisy person who’s not afraid of any external challenges life's throwing at me, but who, deep down, is terrified of being discarded and holds on to things until it hurts.
But there is still hope! It’s taken me many years but I am now finally able to
let go.
I'm letting go… Letting go…Letting go...
I'm letting go… Letting go…Letting go...
