I don’t like feeling sadness, pretty much no one does. But sadness has a heaviness to it that slows you down. And when it does, there is usually a pain on the other side of it that needs care, attention, and love. I felt sad about not having my father around. I was raised by a single mom.
I honestly didn’t know I felt such sadness until I began processing it recently. The interesting thing that brought this sadness to the surface was me seeing a certain gentlemen. Older gentlemen in fact. There was a recent rejection of an emotional intimacy I was looking for and I had some sustained anger to it. Some extra spiciness I was having a hard time placing.
In my healing journey from (the soup: bipolar, anxiety, addiction, C-PTSD), it has been noted more than a few times to take ownership and responsibility for my feelings. That I can absolutely have boundaries and state needs, but others are free to respond however they choose. And I am free to respond in ways that protect myself, in a healthy way, should they choose an avenue that I find harmful.
But feelings are not easy to label, corral into sensible behavior, or get to a rational place quickly. Even with all the tools in my healing kit, I still get messy and insight takes time.
You see where I am going with this? Freudian shit, right? This guy represented a father I did not know. The rejection and yet another abandoning moment in my life. Salt on the wound. Acid in the cut. And ughhhh! What a messy and uncomfortable thing to realize.
For the un-initiated, we date our parents. You may not like this information, but it’s true. We either date them, date their upgrade, or their opposite or ourselves or whom we admire most. But mostly we date our folks because they create the blue print for what we perceive relationships to be. For what feels safe, familiar, known, understood, and acceptable. Even if it’s toxic. That’s a bonus!
So the father wound (definitely a thing, as is mother wound, but that’s another essay), cropped up on me and I decided to hash it out. I spoke out loud, asked my deceased father what was wrong with me and him. I cried, I curled up, hugged my stuffed bear, I eventually laughed. And then I got up, typed in “angry music” to my music streamer and Papa Roach emerged. I hadn’t heard them in ages. I listened and kickboxed for a bit.
I felt better.
Something I have discovered in sobriety and mental and emotional health healing; emotions are energy and they need to move. I have been a massage therapist for some years and the stress people carry in their bodies is not always the stress of their current predicament. Frequently it is stress from times un-thought of, times unprocessed, pent up in the hips and shoulders. Sometimes what we need is release. Movement is that release.
A cliché, but a goodie, feel it to heal it. I felt some of that pain. More will come, more has to. I spent 39 years unknowingly stuffing down an anger and a grief I did not know was there. More will show up and I will listen to Papa Roach and punch the air and life will be good. Although my relationships will likely still bear more spiciness than I’d wish to deal with. But life will remain good.
Santee Blakey is a Life Coach, Author, and Licensed Massage Therapist (because healing is mind and body). She spends her time in cafe's, taking walks, being super sensitive, loving on folks, and practicing to be a whole human being someday. Check out her blog and social media for tasty bits of perspective, empowerment and ways to grow in self love.
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