I came back from the US for a reason. I came back from Dubai for a reason. I came back from Bali for a reason. Every time I tried to settle somewhere else, I was hooked back by the grip of something invisible that brought me back to my hometown, to square one.
I was not having it anymore. So when I picked myself up from the dungeons of self-pity and despair, I realized that there was one thing that I could no longer ignore. An emotional issue that I needed to resolve with a loved one – my father.
I won’t be burdening you with the details of this issue but the reason that I share this now is to reach out into the ether to see if there is anyone who's still chained in a spot with an oppressed and unresolved truth. A truth can be oppressed for so long, too long, and we all know the reason: fear.
Fear is very cunning. It will put on thousands of garbs and disguises. It wheedles its way through your consciousness like a weasel-fish. And if you touch it, it feels very real.
But sometimes, even fear finds a force bigger than itself. It’s the force of ENOUGH! When I came back from Bali, I found my ENOUGH! This is enough! I felt it in my body. My soul came down with a flu and there was a big rip in my mind where the truth broke through. I could not do this to myself any longer. I could no longer be buried.
But what about what I’m scared to do? I knew a talk, a confession, a confrontation was in order. My scared self, or “the slowest part of me” as Lissa Rankin often puts it, was not ready for the abrasive effects of a conversation. This is where the illumination happened: You can face your fear and expose your truth, but you also need to be gentle with yourself.
So, instead, I wrote my father a letter. The writing of the letter in itself was the labor of my soul. I wrote it and re-wrote it and experienced all the nauseous spasms of unshared emotions and deep cuts. There were so many times when I questioned this process. What if it was a silly idea? What if it caused even bigger flames and trenches between us? What if other people came into the scene and told me off for upsetting him? On the other hand, what if it was cowardice to hide behind a letter? Familiar waves of sickness and anxiety vibrated in my whole body. Yet, I plowed on.
Finally, there was a draft that I could share. Now the climb was to find the moment to share it. I decided to send it to him on the night of the full moon with the intention of full release. After I spoke to him on the phone, with my best friend holding my hand, I expected to feel a curse being broken, or a weight lifting. There was that certainly but I was puzzled why it did not feel dramatic after all. There was calm and peace washing through me, pure arctic water. But I didn’t change. No scales disappeared. No gills replaced for lungs. No-beaked faced turning human.
I realized that it wasn't dramatic because, through all the years that this wound festered inside me, it was preparing me for this moment. I was unconsciously preparing myself to be ok. I was preparing myself for this lack of drama, this normalcy. The dent in my consciousness was already gone.
I don’t know what will happen next. Whether we ever have a talk or not. Whether our issue will be resolved in a kind manner that is everyone’s highest good…I don’t know. But I’m prepared to be peaceful. To offer nothing but peace. And to expect nothing but peace.
As for handling fear...Maybe there are times for being gentle and times for leaping. What do you think? Share in the comments below!