Been thinking an unnecessarily awful lot about my need to have the last word in confrontations that don’t end in a rosy, pretty way, all tied up in a pretty bow. Because this need is high. At the moment it feels a little bit like the need to be heard, my truth that I’ve never allowed to be heard (in this specific situation) slowly finding a way out. But it also feels a little bit like my urge to still control the way in which what I’ve expressed is taken or received.
It takes constant reminding to let that shit go. That once I’ve spoken, the words are out, it’s on the other to take it and make what they will of it. That is decided entirely by where they may be placed, emotionally speaking, at any given point of time as well as how open they are to seeing and hearing the truth.
It takes constant reminding that I have never been able to control that, and it’s not about to change now. If anything, the more the truth is finding its way out, the more resistance I am going to face. The more people are going to step away. The more the outcomes are going to be hard and far from perfect, all tied up in bows.
I don’t know about strong, but this is still amongst one of the bravest things I’ve done in the last few years.
This business of accepting the unpretty side of things is a long and slow process. It has meant shedding the belief that I am a fixer, the belief that I am a uniformly good and understanding person. Because there are many things I cannot (and do not) want to fix. I want to let people do the work to figure out why things sometimes go wrong between us, and put in their share of effort in building bridges if they so wish. And in the absence of that, I am an imperfectly fallible human being with feelings — sometimes hurt, sometimes rage, sometimes disappointment — about just how much I cannot mould and fix an ending so it can be pretty.
Sometimes endings are not pretty. Most times, even when they bring liberation, they’re not happy. It just takes constant reminding that that’s perfectly okay.