I’ve often felt that what I have to say is of no value. There are so many words around me, tongues flapping and opinions being hurled to and fro; is there anyone even listening? What is the point of writing; is there anyone read or listen to what I have to say? I am afraid of being unheard or my voice being silenced or receiving superficial affirmations.
Words, in their truest form, are an actual extension of me, my being, who I am. I suppose that when I am afraid to share my words, I am actually afraid to share myself, to be vulnerable. That my words may be rejected, that my thoughts may be rejected; that I am simply too much.
I avoid feeling feelings by distracting myself. If I don’t allow myself to feel, then maybe the hard emotions will just disappear. But instead, they lie quietly inside of me, building walls around my heart that keep the less scary emotions out too. When you cancel out both hard and good, all you have is nothing, and nothing means numbness, which is something in itself. And numbness is a hard feeling, because it keeps you from having accurate emotional responses to what is going on around you, whether it’s anger, sadness, or joy. And those feelings turn into psychosomatic symptoms in your body, in the form of aching bones, chest tightness, or jaw clenching.
By writing using the word “you” instead of “me” or “I”, I continue to detach my words from myself. I need to write. To write what I’m feeling and thinking and how I’m relating to everything happening around me. It’s easier for me to write in the third person, relating to someone other than myself, like I do in sessions with clients, when I reflect back to them what they are telling me. But in the process of only listening and absorbing, and not voicing my thoughts, I am in the process, losing my own voice and numbing my senses.