I feel like somebody not me and not the person next to me and not my neighbor, not a foreigner, not a human at all but also not an animal, something unclear, unknown, undefined with purposes non-comprehendible and boring did shit into my very middle, my energy center, my most important spot, my very center of balance. I see this shit and avoiding it for ages I have not been in my center of balance since I can remember my self.
It manifests itself daily in a painful and omni-present rejection of my own looks, in fear to be seen and judged, in an omni-present fear to create, to dare, to show my work, to express my opinion, to be in the very center of attention. It is so boring and irritating to the point it hurts. It hurts when I hide out, mad helplessness chewing on my nerves. It hurts when I go against this fear, when I dear and enter the “arena”. It burns in my stomach, aches in my solar plexus, cuts off my breath and bursts into flames in my head. Who took this dump into my very soul? Why would IT bother to do so? Why would IT not do something else, something nicer and more rewarding – like painting rainbows on the sky?
“This “why” is not important at all, neither does the identity of IT matter for now” – though Coco. “The fear of being vulnerable aka the “not good enough” syndrome is the biggest boogie man we have to conquer.” – though Coco. The fear of being vulnerable is there, my center of balance resembles Augeas’ stables and the gig to clean it up requires water of two rivers.
Coco pointed me towards a book by Brené Brown: “Daring Greatly: How the Courage to Be Vulnerable Transforms the Way We Live, Love, Parent, and Lead” I am reading this book (and no this is not a promo speech) and you would not believe it – I am crying through the first 50 pages. Why do I cry? How shall I know? Each and every word is so familiar, so recognizable. It is as if I have been living side by side with an inexplicable monster for years, and finally there are words nailing it down. It hurts. My tears flow in streams to form two rivers Alpheus and Peneus. But I know it already now – the cleaning of the stables will take longer then one day. Putting myself out in the middle of the “arena”, every day, day by day will hurt for a long time, until one day, not gradually and subtle but suddenly and abrupt this fear will disappear forever, opening to the world the sparkling clean and happy cattle crowded stables of my soul.
And as notorious as I am, trying to put a name on everything I see, I spend hours asking Coco for the name of the beast. She ignores my question for long enough to catch me off guard by whispering: “Your ego, my dear. This cruel monster, the ultimate boogie man, the nasty IT – is your EGO.”