“You are the strongest woman I have ever met!” I don’t know how you do it!” “I could never handle all of that!” These are things I have heard many times. I don’t say this in ANY sort of bragging manner. Often times when I hear things like this my insides cringe. I want to scream back something like, “WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT!?!?” People see how you handle things from the outside and their perception is skewed…at best. I will give people that. On the outside, I can make it look like I have my shit together. The whole house could be burning down and I will make sure your eggs aren’t over poached before I save all the valuables, call the fire department, get the kids out, grab Great Grandma’s afghan, reapply my favorite MAC lipstick and put the dogs on their leashes and head out of the door all while not breaking a sweat. Inside, my head is swirling and I am a shit show every minute of everyday.
Currently, it is 3:17 am. I can’t sleep so I got up to do some laundry. As I was getting putting my dirty laundry in I was replaying some of the conversations I have been having lately (if you have any form of anxiety…you know that’s what you do.) All the sudden, my dirty laundry spoke to me…seriously, it was funky. Mostly because it was my 17 year old son’s. No really. My dirty laundry aired my dirty laundry. I have been saying the same things to people lately. “I’m sorry you met me right now.” “I’m sorry you (re)came into my life right now.” “This isn’t the person I normally am.”
I was talking to my cousin about this and he said, “What like a person who has been beat to shit by life for the last several years and needs some support?” Those words rang deep to me. I DON’T KNOW HOW TO ASK OR ACCEPT HELP. I don’t know how to show my fear on the outside. I’ve realized suddenly, my inner chaos that I deal with on the inside, people are seeing and I am embarrassed. People are seeing what I see. They are seeing that girl I have been ashamed of all of my life. I’ve needed to say outloud that I am scared. I am scared that I might need someone to help me carry all the burdens. I may not be able to quite the chaos this time by myself. Typing these words are making me cry. My fingers are hardly able to move. This might be the most terrifying thing I have ever written.
Not letting anyone see what I am feeling on the inside has become a HUGE coping mechanism for me. When nobody can see the chaos they are less likely to leave the mess. Everybody leaves when they think I’m Superwoman…who is going to stay when they see what the inside looks like?