Out of all the people I’ve shared regulation techniques in session with, only one person has outright rejected them, saying, “I don’t think I can just flex my pelvis, and everything will be okay. I do things because of my mind.” I responded, “I get it. You do what you want. Take my ideas, leave them—I’ve got no skin in the game.”
My response reminded me of the book “Creativity Inc.” and how Pixar conducts brainstorming sessions for movies. No idea is a bad idea, but ideas aren’t your baby, so don’t protect and defend them like they are. Something in me liked this neutral charge approach and the way it encouraged and promoted a free flow of communication.
I dislike the part of me that disconnects shuts down, and pulls away. Physically, you might see me, but with my heavy chest and eyeballs seemingly stuck in their sockets. It feels like a donkey jamming its rear hooves into the ground, pulling back against the reins. I just did it with Dave. He approached me to kiss me on the cheek, asking, “Are you going to stay down here or come up?” I took it as a threat, feeling like he wanted me to come upstairs but not outright saying it. But I also acknowledge I was a bit removed from the moment, deep within myself, which is when I can get bitey.
Admitting this embarrasses me, thinking that there are expectations of how I should be. I mean, I do have expectations of myself, like expecting myself to be kind and close to Dave at all times. Isn’t that unrealistic? I can work towards improving my connection with myself and him, but I can also show myself compassion when that cold shoulder feeling comes to town.
I’m so used to the colorful birds on a wire print in my living room that I hardly notice it anymore. I remember drooling over it at a Boba tea restaurant in the University District in Seattle and snapping a picture to recall later. It wasn’t until years later, with a 15-foot white wall to decorate, that the silly beady-eyed birds came to mind. Now, seeing their 24 black-with-white-specked eyes, heads slightly tilted to the left and right, I’m grateful those cuties are keeping a watchful eye over me.
I’m feeling sensitive tonight— not too close but slightly close to having teary eyes. Expectations sure are pushing down on me. Down on me. Down on me. That thumb pressing me, smashing me, like a tack into place. They’re more than I can face, so I turn— a mirror and then another. I can’t outrun me; I’m reflecting right back. I think I’ll be gentle with myself, taking a rest at this point in the climb, for a sit-down and a snack. No attacks, that’s whack. I’ll be back. Tomorrow.
Love, Jaclynn
Going On 40 