I am called to be me. To be who I am, honestly, and without apology. I daren’t be me.
Recently, I have done as I intended to do an age ago, and started using the “pray as you go” app. And it is gentle and affirming and beautiful. And it asks me to put the hard questions before God in prayer. So each evening (I know it is meant for mornings: I am a rebel) I pray. And I cry and cry to Christ, until I sleep, over whatever question it is that day. I could distil them though: distil them to be about having the courage to be who I am in God.
In the therapeutic community too, I cry. I cry because I am scared of emotion, scared of being assertive, scared of how much rubbish I have to wade through from the past, to find healing.
Yesterday, as I received another affirmation that my presence is not wanted, not sought, it felt like someone has taken sandpaper to me, and left nothing but a thin veil between me and the world, the things that pierce. I am alone, and hurting so, so much.
I am tense and frightened of what someone might say next. Like when my mother visited a couple of days ago, and I wait for her to mention the W word. Her reflection –I seem relaxed and happy – belying utterly how I actually felt inside that day .
That reflection is likely to have something to do with my mother’s own fear or denial that things are not okay. Nevertheless, it’s safer to keep the real me hidden from view – inside. But I keep feeling like I want to cry. I am feeling, the therapeutic community are asserting, how exhausting it is to control how I am really feeling.
The veil is thinning and I am scared that I will be found unacceptable. Found unwelcome, having worked hard to belong. That I will be rejected. Being falsely accepted isn’t any use, either. So the suicide ideation returns. Because I can’t be who I am called to be. Nor can I be a false version of myself. God, grant me the courage to be me.