Small and powerless.
I have felt that way since kindergarten. As my therapist pointed out yesterday, I have been trying to avoid that feeling ever since. It started with an event in kindergarten, which I don’t speak of often (in fact, never truly talked about and processed until therapy in Utah), and which I never thought had anything to do with anything.
But it does. Do I think it’s the root of everything? No. Family dynamics, my personality, my brain chemistry — all of these played into it as well. But that feeling of being small and powerless. That has stuck with me and I hate it.
It is the reason that I avoid talking to God when things aren’t going well. It is the reason that I avoid really opening myself up and being vulnerable with other people.
In either of these cases, it is not so much my fear of judgement that prevents me from speaking up. It is my fear of having to face myself and feel like I am, again, small and powerless. Admitting that I am not doing well is saying that I am small and powerless — that I cannot control everything, that I cannot fix everything. I hate hate HATE that idea. I like to believe that I am all-powerful, at least in my own life. I like to believe that I can fix things on my own, that I can be completely independent of needing others.
I’m can’t. I’m not.
I wasn’t built to be. I’m not God. I was made to rely on other people, to trust them to help me. I was built for deep, lasting relationships, which can only occur if I allow myself to be vulnerable and admit that I need others. Admitting that I need others and God is admitting that I don’t have all the answers. It is admitting that I do not have control over everything. It is admitting that, in the grand scheme of things, I am small and powerless.
I am small. I am powerless.
It is only through embracing that and allowing others to walk the road with me, hold me up when I cannot do it myself, that I can begin to empower myself to take control of my recovery and my life.
I need you.
Even if I don’t want to need you.