Well, here I am doing exactly what triggers me deeply— being vulnerable and exposing the soft belly of my self... I thought I could never post a recovery journal, that it would be too dangerously serving myself up to be eaten alive... and here I am.
Logically, I know that I am writing here because it is a safe place on this forum and that I have experienced connection and kinship with others here.
Emotionally, I crave to connect authentically and I am terrified to connect authentically.
What an intense, churning mix of feelings.
The more I have inched my way out in the social world as authentic me (a relatively recent phenomenon) the more I anticipate facing the old terrors, the boogey man, the rhino in James and the Giant Peach... But, I find there's no epic threat, no terrifying villain, no do-or-die existential danger... and this is very confusing.
Sitting with this confusion shows me that the old dangers were real, that the old equations of authenticity=death were lies, and that I can maybe-kinda-sortof BE in the present.
That's more of an intellectual understanding.
Right now, my heart is pounding, a headache is throbbing— I see you, old warnings of danger. Thank you for being of service and helping alert me during times of survival in the past.
I release you from service now. This newness is not dangerous.
And even as I wonder "what have I done?" by writing this, I shall tap on "post" and, after clinging to the shore for so long, I leap into the wild, vast current of being human me.