I Was Safer When I Was Worse
I knew exactly who I was. Then I started feeling things.
I didn't used to feel much. I thought that was just who I was. Calm. Rational. Someone who handled things well. I could talk about feelings, describe them, analyze them. But I didn't actually feel them in my body.
When something started happening in my chest or stomach, my immediate response was to shut it down. Make it stop. Move past it as fast as possible. I got so good at it I stopped noticing I was doing it.
When I was a kid I used to picture pushing feelings down into my feet. The image stopped but the habit didn't. Something bad would happen and I'd just compress it into nothing. Once or twice a year I'd break down over something small and let everything out at once. Then back to fine.
I thought this was normal. I thought this was strength.
People would comment on how calm I was. How well I handled things. I took it as a compliment.
It wasn't strength. It was just fear that looked functional.
Then one day I was hugging my grandfather goodbye at his front door. A normal goodbye. I'd see him again soon.
But when I hugged him something hit me. Not a thought. A feeling in my chest. Heavy and wrong. This might be the last time.
I did what I always did. I pushed it down. I stepped back, smiled, and said I'd see him soon. I got in the car. I was fine.
Except the feeling didn't go away. It just sat there in my chest getting heavier. I kept pushing it down and it kept coming back up.
I drove to the airport. Parked. Walked through security. Got on the plane. The whole time this thing in my chest was building and I was doing everything I could to keep it down. I was fine. I was always fine. This was just a goodbye.
The flight was fine. I got home. Unpacked. Made dinner. Went to bed. I was handling it. I was fine.
But the feeling was still there. Three days later it was still there. A week later. Just sitting in my chest, heavy and wrong, and I kept pushing it down every time it tried to come up.
I was in my apartment two weeks later doing nothing. Just sitting on the couch. And it just came up.
I don't know what changed. One minute I was holding it and the next minute I just couldn't anymore.
I started crying and I couldn't stop. Not normal crying. The kind where you can't breathe right. Where your whole body is doing something you have no control over.
The grief of that goodbye. Of knowing I might not see him again. Of every other goodbye I'd pushed down. Of everything I'd been pushing down for years. It all came up at once because I'd finally run out of the ability to keep it down.
I sat on my couch and fell apart for hours. I'd think it was over and then it would start again.
The scariest part was I couldn't stop it. I'd always been able to stop it before.
When it finally stopped I just sat there. I felt hollowed out. Something had broken that I didn't know how to fix.
The next few days were strange. I kept expecting to go back to normal but I couldn't. Feelings kept coming up that I didn't ask for. I'd be doing something normal and suddenly I'd feel something and I couldn't push it away like I used to.
I went to therapy that week because I didn't know what else to do.
I tried to explain what happened. The goodbye. The weeks of holding it. The breaking down on my couch. How now I couldn't seem to control anything anymore.
My therapist just listened. Then she asked me what I thought was happening.
I didn't know. That's why I was there.
She asked me what it felt like when I was trying to hold the feeling back those two weeks.
Exhausting, I said. Like I was using all my energy just to keep it down.
She asked what it felt like now.
I didn't know how to answer that. Scary. Confusing. Like I didn't know what was going to happen next.
We sat there for a while. Then she said something I wasn't ready for.
She said maybe my body was just done. That you can only hold things for so long before something gives.
I didn't know what to do with that.
Things kept happening after that. Not just grief. Other things.
A few days later I was walking down the street and the sun hit the buildings in a certain way and I felt something. Not sad. Something good. It stopped me completely.
I think it was joy. I'd never felt joy in my body before. I'd been happy in my head. I'd recognized when good things happened. But I'd never felt it like this.
A friend said something funny and I laughed in a way that felt different. Fuller.
Someone was kind to me and I felt it. It landed in my chest and stayed there. I didn't just note it and move on. I actually felt it.
Things kept happening like this. I'd feel content. I'd feel excited. I'd feel disappointed and it would actually hurt.
Everything feels bigger now. More real.
When I didn't feel things, life was flat. Manageable. Safe. Now it's not flat anymore.
I still don't know what I'm feeling half the time. I'll have something happening in my chest and not be able to name it.
Someone will ask how I'm doing and now sometimes the answer is actually good. Like genuinely good in a way I can feel in my body. Not just fine. Actually good.
But also sometimes the answer is sad or anxious or overwhelmed and I can feel it happening.
Before, I would just say fine and mean nothing. Now I have to actually check. I have to locate what I'm feeling. Half the time I can't.
I don't know who I am like this. The person I was for thirty years was built on not feeling. On staying above everything. On being in control.
This version has no control. Feelings just show up. Good ones and bad ones. I can't predict them. I can't stop them. I just have to feel them.
When I didn't feel things, nothing could really hurt me. But also nothing could really reach me. I was protected but I was completely alone.
Now someone can hurt me and it actually hurts. But someone can also make me happy and I actually feel happy. I can feel disappointed. Excited. Content. Sad. All of it is real.
I miss the old version sometimes. The one who couldn't be touched. Who was always calm, always fine, always safe. She knew what to expect.
This version doesn't know anything.
I was safer when I was worse.
That's just true. When I didn't feel things, I was protected. Stable. Nothing could get to me.
But I also wasn't really here. I was just going through motions. Life was flat and manageable and I didn't know what I was missing.
Now I feel things and it's messy and confusing. But when I'm happy I'm actually happy. When something good happens I get to feel it.
I don't know if it's better. Some days it feels better. Some days it feels like I broke something that was working.
But I think the point isn't that it's better. It's that it's real.
I spent thirty years safe and numb. Now I'm less safe but I'm actually living.
I still miss the safety. I still get scared when feelings show up. I still don't know what half of them are.
But I can't go back. Whatever broke stayed broken.
I was safer when I was worse. But I'm more alive now.