What we are not…

I’ve been rearranging my inner living space. Shifting the sofa of perspective, cleaning out the wardrobe of memories, washing down the windows of my inner world. It’s thanks to a women’s circle I’ve joined and my projections onto the women. The gift and the medicine of the circle is that it is a huge – huuuuge – mirror. There are moments when I’m deeply pleasantly surprised by my effect on others and swirl in spirals of an oxytocin rush but there are other stomach wrenching moments of a monster rearing its ugly head.

Instead of lurching out of myself in apparent self-defense, I’m learning to face the monster moments. Julia Robinson is (under a narrow set of circumstances) learning to keep her mouth shut. A miracle in itself.

What I found was that one of the women, whose communication style is similar to my father’s, was triggering me like a mother-f”£cker. I projected, unconsciously, for a week or so, meanwhile in my endeavour to prove that I was ‘right’ found myself in the middle of (self-created) havoc and awkward emotions that ranged from pissed-offness to hurt.  

One day I realised that I could just talk to her about it (whereas I cannot with my dear old daddy). So I did. And I realised that who she is, is not her communication style. In short, I realised, though when she speaks I hear my father, she is not him. And it became a lot easier. I realised this woman is empathic, intelligent and caring. The contents are not the container. Once I could see inside, I found that I like her.

But the gift of opening and facing the monster went further: I realised that when I suddenly, genetically, do the same things as my dad, though my programming may be similar, I am not my dad. Enter Freedom.

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