TW: Drugs, abuse
Letter 1: Someone who cried with me
Over the next 40 days (as I approach my 40th birthday) I am writing 40 letters. For each day, I’ve created a prompt e.g. someone who hurt me… Some will be to people I’ve loved and lost, some to people who hurt me, and some to versions of myself. I’m not sure what the outcome will be, other than that I’m bound to grow through it, and that you’ll all get to know me uncomfortably well. And I’m ok with that. I hope, in fact, that some of you will join me and write some letters of your own or find something of yourself in mine, and grow with me.
I’m starting today, with the most difficult of all of the prompts. Someone who cried with me.
There have been so many tears in my life, I thought this would be an easy one. But as I search my soul, I find I have no memory of anyone ever crying with me. My teens were a patchwork of me crying alone, or crying and screaming, exploding at my parents in a whirlwind of unchecked hurt, anger and loneliness. There are as many or more memories of me being the stoic presence in the midst of chaos, who never cried because somebody had to be the strong one.
But no moment which I can pinpoint and say with any great conviction that we cried together. Even in grief. Side-by-side we all walk into it alone.
Day 1 and it could be tempting to think there is no letter to write. As it turns out, the only person who ever truly cried with me was me. And even that, I realise now, was never enough. Myself and I didn’t shed all the tears we had in us.
There’s a particular series of memories I have, of not crying. At the time, an abuser in my life was controlling a group of us (age 13/14) with drugs and alcohol. Thanks to my allergies, in those situations I had an excuse to abstain – if I’d had an anaphylactic reaction, my hospitalisation or death would have drawn serious scrutiny.
When everyone else was out-of-control and sick, I was doing my best to look after them. Feeling responsible for their safety and wellbeing. And being the only one the next day who remembered everything. It never occurred that I was as vulnerable as they were, or as affected. Or that the person actually responsible was a criminal. Or that our parents were responsible for knowing where we were and what happened there. I just believed I had to bear the burden of responsibility. It was many years before I realised I’d been groomed to believe it was mine, to stop me from telling anyone.
One day I failed. The group had split into two, and running around half-naked and out-of-their-faces, half of the girls had an encounter with the police. One of them, my closest friend in the group, was picked up by two officers and taken home. It marked a very dark turn in both our lives. One of even deeper manipulation, deceit, abuse and pain.
I cried for her, but never with her. And never for me. And the saddest part, that I only understand now, is that in not crying for me, I never felt all my feelings. As a result, I couldn’t truly see and understand hers, at a time when I was the only one who might have. If I’d truly let my feelings in then, it would have served us all better.
More and more layers of denial like that built up over time. A soundproof wall that muffled the agony inside me until I almost forgot how to cry at all. I felt the presence of the need for tears sometimes, but for years I had no idea how to unlock them.
Their presence frightened me, because the times that I had cried, the enormity behind the dam was so great, it could rival Noah’s flood. I participated in the abusive oppression of my own voice by suppressing my hurt, anger and loneliness. It took me a long time to learn that I’m not safe with those feelings locked up inside a tearless, fortress of solitude. I’m safe when I experience a world where I don’t have to lock them up. That means inner work, equipping myself to show up bigger in the world as it is now, and aligned work that supports meaningful change to make it bigger for others.
As I reflect on this, it speaks so much to my why. Why I believe that it is the healers, artists, joy bringers, the truly spiritual and the collaborative thinkers (and those who amplify their messages like web designers, business coaches, copywriters, photographers and graphic designers etc) who can change the world – by changing our experience of it.
Why I believe that unlocking our true voices and vision is essential to ending the culture of manipulation, control and suppression by fear that dominates the world. And that its work always begins within.
Why I believe that we must reclaim a sense of worthiness that says “I don’t have to do anything I don’t want to” and means it. And disown the sense of responsibility placed upon us by others for their own ends.
Why I believe that building a business is an incredible way to do that, not only for yourself, but for everyone your business touches. And why I believe that process must always open space for your voice. Your truth. Your tears. You.
To every one of you here today, who took the time to read this, thank you. From the bottom of my heart, thank you for wanting a better world for yourself and others. Thank you for being willing, curious and dedicated enough to consider being part of its making, in the work that you do within yourself and in the world around you. Thank you for recognising that the status quo isn’t enough – it’s not even close.
Thank you for choosing you. Choosing you isn’t selfish, it’s an essential part of being able to serve others. That was one of the hardest and most heartbreaking lessons of my life.
Read Letter 2: A Letter to Someone I Hurt
