Last year I went on a journey seeking compassion. It was prompted by an argument that I had with my significant other where he told me that I was cold. The words hurt like hell, and I was disarmed. I went over that conversation in my head for a while before concluding that he was right.
I’d never been an emotional person. I never liked hugs, kisses, or outward displays of affection. This never stopped me from forming relationships or bonding with people, but I tend to keep them at an arm’s length. Once I realized this I began to open myself up to laugh, play, and feel more. I gave myself permission to dive into emotions and cry if I felt like crying, admit hurt if something was hurting me, show my moments of fear and sadness. To my surprise none of it made me feel weaker. It actually had the opposite effect. I was sharing myself with people, and they were responding in a positive way.
Living this new open version of my life helped to cut down on some of my anxiety. I think it was because I started living instead of hiding.
The journey hasn’t been all good though. I hit a major bump in the road last night with my mother. I had been trying to cultivate a relationship with her. We were talking pretty regularly until all of a sudden it just stopped. I tried calling her week after week, but no response. She would text, but no calls. This went on for weeks until finally I texted her that I didn’t understand why she wasn’t responding to my calls. I told her that I didn’t want this kind of relationship any longer. Continue reading