Whenever someone says to me ‘Oh, I’ve dealt with that’ I don’t believe them. I’ve said that to myself many times and the further I get down the road on this healing journey, the most I realise I have not dealt with it either. The statement isn’t a lie. We have dealt with things as best we have at the time. But in my experience, the hurt goes deeper than we are consciously aware of. We can see in others so clearly what exists in ourselves. There’s no way you thinking or processing something for a day or two, or really feeling hurt and licking your wounds for a short period of time can really allow your mind, body and soul to release in the way it needs too. No, the roots of hurt go much deeper than what you can see, and what you experience on the surface.

This is true with my exploration into my intimacy issues. I thought I had dealt with it. A recent series of fortunate events, and my willingness to acknowledge that I truly know nothing, enabled parts of my subconsciousness to be accessed. These last few weeks have been terrible for me. I look fine on the outside. Hmm, don’t we all? Keeping it all together on the outside is what our minds and bodies do a great job of calming the waters. If they didn’t protect us like that, what would be the alternative? I am an extreme and complicated case, but my go-to default would be death. I wish that wasn’t what I wrote, but it’s true. I often go to that place.

I paused when writing ‘my go-to default would be’ and left some space to think. While thinking, my friend asked me to call him. He told me there’s some weird things happening. I asked him excitedly if it was the universe conspiring for his birthday. He said no, his mother just got taken away by the ambulance. My heart sunk. The worry inside of me is all consuming. When I eventually came back to the page, I decided to admit that I wished for death. There’s something in that revelation. I think it’s the realisation that I don’t actually want to die. I really don’t. My default of wishing I was no longer alive or that I was never born comes from a much younger version of me. I talked about and with this part of me in therapy today.

Yesterday when I was avoiding myself all day, I kept admitting to myself a few times that I wanted to cry. I could feel the tears in my face. But my protective part that keeps my tears down and away from me came back right on cue. Down they went again. She was right to do that for me. I had a laundry list of things I wanted to do in the day. Anything but be by myself.

I went to bed tired, and an hour earlier than I have been. Maybe two hours earlier if we’re being honest. I set my alarm for 8AM with the hope that I would wake up earlier and find the time to journal what it is that I was searching for (I was clueless), do yoga of some sort, eat breakfast, shower, get dressed in clean clothes and brush my hair. I only managed the last three as I finally got a solid 8 hours of sleep. I realised my hyperactive energy was masking how I was feeling inside. I didn’t know what to do with my feelings and so my busyness distracted me. It did a great job of helping me avoid myself.

The therapy session went great. Huge progress. A younger part of me came up. She wanted to speak. I realised in the session that there was no room for my tears that I long for. My therapist asked me to make space in me for them. There was fear of the memories coming back. I told that part of me that I didn’t want the memories to come up without the safety of Mother Ayahuasca for help, guidance and wisdom. The tears were allowed though. As many tears are needed, I will gladly cradle them, hold them, love them. I forget most of the session, truthfully. When I made space, it was but the size of a grain of sand. The visual that came to me was that the grain of sand was in a black hole in my chest, covering my heart. My poor broken heart. My younger self spoke freely about being confused, isolated, unloved, unwanted, alone and hurting. She consistently advocated for her needs, like she had been taught. ‘I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what is wrong’. Only when I said what was wrong, this wasn’t accepted. Not only not accepted, I was punished for it. No wonder I stopped trying to tell anyone.

The purpose of the therapy session was to help uncover why I am scared to by myself. I felt that was the key to unlocking the rest of my intimacy issues with others. If I did not feel safe with me, how could I feel safe in the presence of anyone else?