I’ve had a week. A fortnight, really.
Once a week or so, I have someone comment that I am “scary” in a half-joking way. I smile, take it as a compliment, and continue to try and get my work done.
It’s not a compliment though, is it?
Last week, end of April, I had three people who I respect make that comment to me, and I took it to heart.
I always seem to make a choice to fight, to be angry, and to show aggression to get things done. I meet the frustrations of my life with hostility and rage. It gives me the energy and the will to deal with the things thrown at me, and it has been noticeably so over the past few weeks. I use the word choice; I make the choice to behave like this in response to issues, though I have been doing it for so long that it no longer feels like a choice.
I don’t want to be scary.
I’m not scary, not really.
When I roll over, I expose my soft underbelly and the spikes are so brittle they crumble to dust. I am delicate and vulnerable, I am passionate about my work and I am in love with my friends. I care so much, and for so many, but I can’t make the choice to be this raw and exposed because I am scared. I am scared all the time. I am scared of people thinking I am a fraud, or incompetent. I am scared of being rejected and avoided. Hell, I’m even scared of being good at something, or being accepted. Fear of the world runs through my body like ice, and I keep choosing to be scary than face being scared.
I am exhausted. This has to stop. I want to feel, and be, who I really am without hiding behind abrasiveness.
For this week, I am making a different choice. I want to be honestly and authentically me. I’m not quite ready to be vulnerable, but I have been choosing to be less scary. I am choosing not to go in fighting, but just to be neutral in my interactions and observe what energy comes to meet me. I’ve had some really beautiful moments already, but choosing to change is hard.
This is an extended version of a Facebook post I made earlier in the week.