A FB post made me ragey, the other day. It was one of those posts that had been shared a million times by a zillion other people, so it was only time before it ended up in my feed.
The gist of the post was that women in this day and age try too hard to be like men, and, in doing so, lose the parts of themselves that, essentially, make them woman. Sentences such as “The God-given femininity & unique way our Creator designed us,” and “She does not mistake her meekness for weakness,” triggered me in a big kinda way.
I felt the words down to my core. Something about them flipped a switch in me, and all the alarm bells started going off. I wanted to respond. I wanted to write a smart, witty, thought-provoking comment about the absurdity of this woman’s generalizations about life. Who did she think she was?
Instead, I stopped and put my phone away, grabbed my journal, and started thinking.
Whyyyyyyy? What was my lesson, here? There was a part of me that felt personally victimized, so there was something, somewhere, inside of me that needed to be healed (obvi).
Just because I’d done a ton of healing around a particular subject/person/situation/past trauma/whatever doesn’t mean that the same thing won’t come up again, but after healing it once (or twice, or three times…), it becomes easier to recognize and move through.
As I was journaling through some stuff, I quickly noticed that one of the triggers in this situation was a person. I felt myself become cynical and blamey. Then I slowly began to unravel the rest. Why did I get so butthurt when I read that post? Why did I feel judged?
I saw myself as separate from this woman. My problems must be bigger than hers. She’s lucky. How nice for her that she gets to be taken care of. I’ll bet she’s never worked a day in her life. What does she know about being a woman in the “real world”? I’d love to have a life where I got to sit around all day and have everyone do everything for me. But I have to work, goddamit, and, if you think that makes me less of a feminine woman, then you can go kick rocks. Uh oh. Watch out, yall, here it comes…
My intense overreaction to a perfectly benign post from a stranger on the internet stemmed from my need to feel loved. To feel safe. To feel taken care of.
Interesting. I didn’t see that one coming.
Now, I could sit here and list all the times throughout my life that I’ve had to step up, but I won’t. What’s more important to figure out is why I’ve always felt like I’ve had to do that. Why did I feel like I needed to be the one doing the saving? And why was I unavailable to be “saved”?
Answer: I thought that if I proved my worth by going above and beyond, I would be loved.
Whoa, definitely didn’t see that one coming.
So when this random stranger on the internet “threatened” my need to please (read: my need to earn love in order to be loved), I freaked out and felt like I had to justify my…martyrdom? Dang it.
Next question: Is that true? Do I always have to sacrifice something, in order to be loved and to feel safe?
Hell no, it’s not true. There are so many people in this world who love me, and I KNOW that.
I guess it’s time to delve back into my own worthiness issues.
I’m feeling super grateful that I came across that post the other day, and that my trigger also just happened to be exposed. It (not so gently) pointed me in the direction of something that is ready to be healed, and now I have the opportunity to rewrite some of my old stories.
Things don’t happen to us, yall. Things happen for us.