Gotta Love Those Muscle-Shaped Walls
A story of becoming, unbecoming, coming undone, and building a home with what I found
Mercury Retrograde in Capricorn is over, and the theme was: It’s not your fault but it is your responsibility. And now that mercury is direct I think this is an interesting prompt to unpack for today.
When I first moved to Portland, on January 6th, 2016, I had a story that I clung to like it was going to save my life. My family was overwhelming to put it lightly, I had just in the last month been rattled by my ex whom I endured a toxic relationship with for four years but hadn’t spoken to for over a year when I left Pittsburgh in the middle of the night. I left a job that was a huge score for me professionally -working at a top rated publishing company that produced really well-known, nationally-distributed, magazines- and I was on their photography team. And I left after only working there for six weeks.
-Which side note, my team lead at the time was really outwardly disappointed in my choice to take the job since I was leaving (I told her I didn’t know I was leaving when I took the job, and this was a half truth. I knew Portland was on the table because I bought the plane ticket a week before accepting the position but I left the door open in case this job blew my socks off and I fell in love, spoiler I didn’t- I really want to come back to this story on a later post because I think there is a lot of value to unpack here for people looking to make big changes and maybe not know what to do. So harmless plug here to subscribe if that might interest you.
Okay, back on topic.
I had a lot of weight on me, but I knew how to carry it. Carrying weight is what I did.
I read this quote this morning thinking about the theme for this retrograde passing:
“Behind every strong person is a story that gave them no choice.”
At first glance, my inclination is to pick that quote apart. I loathe when people say, “well I had no choice.”
I could rattle on about that all day, because simply put, we always have choices. Some of them just feel emotionally impossible to make.
Which is fair because fear is monstrous when it’s triggered in a way that feels like dying. And impossible choices always feel like dying.
But now that Mercury is out of retrograde in Capricorn (yes, I love astrology) the message today is, “it’s not your fault but it is your responsibility.”
This triggered my inner child like a neon sign.
Kids are often faced with impossible circumstances because frankly they have no choices.
We carried the lack of choices that put us in those circumstances and then we grow into adults that wield the stories of lack like weapons and armor. And/both.
I was a little girl robbed of a lot of little girl things, who carried the lack with pride because look how big my muscles became? Gotta love those muscle shaped walls.
That little girl grew into a powerful woman whom did and does incredible things all on her own. All. on. her. own.
I grew into strong because strong is all I’ve ever felt safe inside. Safe felt like control, because I had to control myself a lot back then, I had a lot of responsibility.
Over the last 7 years (January 6th was my 7 year anniversary!) I have softened because frankly I became ashamed of my strength.
And as a huge advocate for therapy, I think actually therapy was the reason I began to hate my strength. Therapy pointed out in so many ways how damaged I was due to what I had been through, and I didn’t want to be damaged goods anymore. -Side note, still a huge advocate for therapy, please stick with me for the evolution- So, I shunned it, I softened beyond recognition. My strength, my work ethic, my attitude, my opinions, my will, when I saw any of those qualities show their ugly head I called upon empathy, compassion, understanding and I told my power to take a seat.
God I can not even begin to tell you the destruction this has caused over the last three years.
It’s felt like an ego death but bigger, like a whole identity crises times a million. Who I had always known myself to be, who I have always been proud to be was a ghost and I became so unrecognizably depressed and no one knew it.
I went to therapy almost weekly searching for, “who I really was when I wasn’t operating from trauma.” I tried to reinvent myself a million times over. I was suffocating myself from the inside out like choking on my truth was my new past time.
My health declined, I drank more than I ever had, and I kept asking myself daily how I became a very sick person searching for who was supposed to be the healthiest version of myself.
Spoiler alert. You can not operate, live, and certainly not thrive inside of an identity you don’t have. And you especially can not even cultivate habits for that identity if you don’t even like who that is.
First I blamed my parents, then my shitty college relationship, then my inner child self, like they were problems I could fix instead of just the truest story they are.
My life.
My life isn’t something to be fixed. It can’t even be fixed and it’s taken 32 years to not only be able to really look at that. But digest it in a way that I’m not trying to purge any part of it anymore. I’d like to let empathy come to play when I have the perspective to call on her (I won’t always even when I probably should), I want my fire to blaze and burn with the wild passion I have for this one precious life I’ve got. And I sit here and I write that with tears in my eyes because I can feel how tired she was waiting for her turn. Fuck. I missed her. She wasn’t a lot of people’s favorites because she tends to come on strong and speak out of turn but when I see her, I trust her now in a way I never have. That little girl is brave, and frankly I think we need more reckless women.
I think I took therapy a little too far honestly, and instead of accepting and integrating the little girl and her coping mechanisms that therapy gave some context around. I let the truth of her pain change me. I didn’t want to be her anymore. But the real truth is, I don’t have a choice, she is my story and instead of feeling bad for her, I’m learning what loving her looks like. Loving her in a radical way. And the fun part? She has some new friends too. Enter stage left, empathy and compassion, not only for others but most importantly herself.
My angel number is 8, and this is my 8th year here, and I’d like to take that little girl I had to be and let her courage to be strong, free. Let her live. Let her be proud. Let her be wild. We can do both now, strong and soft.
I saw the cages, I broke them down, I celebrated the imperfect being that came out of them, and I taught her a few new things. She has an insatiable, relentless curiosity about her. It’s intoxicating how she lives in this wonder state. I see her, truly. I am her. Here I am.
I don’t have a profound takeaway for you, as I think this is where in writing some conclusion of sorts comes together to wrap it all up in a nice little bow. I don’t know if I’m that kind of writer, because I think everything is still in process but these are my current findings and I think that still carries value to be shared.
I hope you find yourself in this story. In the messy middle or maybe at the beginning or possibly even on the path next to me at the end. No matter where you are my hope is that somewhere it gives you hope. Maybe not the kind of hope that makes you feel like there is a map someone else can hand you that says, “there is a way forward for you and on the other side it’s glorious.” Because I don’t know you or your story or your shoes, so how could I possibly tell you when you’ll arrive at the glory when I’m not even there myself? I will say that there is always going to be a day where whatever it is you’re carrying that is making you tired will end. A day that you get to put it down. I know that might not feel true right now, because you’re tired and it hurts and that feels never ending. Like when you’re in the thick of all the body aches of the flu and you can not remember what your skin felt like before it felt this bad. The pain so blinding it forces us to be with it in the present. If you’re there, be present alongside this too. There will come a day when this isn’t your reality, and from a fellow strong person, it’s not strength convincing you not to “burden” anyone with your struggle. It’s fear, don’t let that bitch trick you. You’re not alone. You’ve got this because we’ve got this and I adore you.
til the end of time,
Xx, Caitie
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