I am not too much.

It's an odd thing to be someone who feels so much but who cannot feel.

How do I explain?

When I was little I was dramatic, sensitive, a "little drama queen" (my mom still calls me this sometimes "our little drama queen")

I used to feel ashamed of myself when she said it. Like it was a bad thing, like at 4 or 7 or 14 years old I obviously should have been keeping my shit together better.

My feelings and emotions are so strong, it has taken decades of training to make them compliant, soft spoken, submissive. Whispers.

In some ways this way does feel better.

I know I am not going to flip my shit when something happens that throws me off. This is helpful with the kids and my husband- when the kids were little I would have meltdowns on Saturday mornings and it wasn't fun for any of us. Or if something would go awry I would get really frustrated and not care how my frustration affected other people. In other words, now when things get messy, I don't then make more of a mess, I can deal with the messy.

In some ways this feels worse.

As a person who is intense and likes it, I miss my strong feelings self. I'm glad I can be more in charge of my emotions, yet it feels like I am not being myself, like I'm riding a bike with training wheels, holding the brakes all the way down every hill. It's like when you get something to eat and you think it's going to be delicious but then it's just okay and you're not mad about it, but you aren't satisfied either.

Being me is such an interesting thing- all of the ways my very personhood is not socially, societally, institutionally, or interpersonally palatable, the ways I am not fit for consumption and how that is shown to me over the course of my lifetime. The day in and day out ways I learn to hide how I actually feel and want to express myself so other people/places won't be uncomfortable around me.

It's like... I am so uncomfortable in the world that instead of figuring out how to make myself comfortable in the world I shut myself down so the world would be more comfortable with me.

You might remember that my old therapist used to say "Where'd your tears go?" if I got teary eyed, but then I could not cry. I imagine this seemed like a good call out to her, almost like permission for me to let it go, but for me it felt like a glaring spotlight on my lack of ability to just do something as simple as cry.

When crying is something that gets you reprimanded or made fun of, you stop yourself from crying. Because I was so in doubt about whether what I was feeling was acceptable, when other people got uncomfortable with my emotions I took that as a sign that what I was expressing was wrong or not allowed instead of knowing that other people's responses to my self expression are not about me.

There is a lot of grief in me. People talk so much about shame, dealing with shame, but lately I've been thinking more about grief and how the things I haven't grieved are still waiting for me, patiently like they do, they can wait forever. I wonder if focusing on shame, and things like forgiveness, getting over it, moving on.. the golden goal of healing.. has been helpful but not telling the whole story...I wonder if all along what I've needed is to feel the grief of the things I've suffered.

I don't mean wallowing. Or taking myself down. I mean taking the time to feel the grief that weaves its way through my life, that will continue to do so, that I don't need to get over anything- sometimes things that are sad stay freaking sad. I will never get over my childhood, I wish it had been different. And I don't have to forgive anyone, but I can stop blaming it for how my life is turning out now. I have so many things to cry about, don't we all?

So why haven't I cried about them? Felt them? What if, by giving myself time to grieve I am also giving myself time to live? Who benefits from me staying stuck in the shame rather than shifting over into the lifelong practice of feeling? (a practice that I do not have to qualify for by being healed by the way.)

My current therapist (who is so helpful) suggested that I make playlists of songs that help me feel. That it can be helpful take like 2 hours total: to get into a feeling place (perhaps 30 minutes) and then feel it (maybe 1 hour), and then ease yourself out of it (possibly 30 minutes). And since crying is hard for me, I started there. I made a playlist that is about an hour and fifteen minutes long of songs I know will make me cry. Then the next morning I sat at my desk, put my Airpods in, and turned on my playlist.

I started it off with some kind of bittersweet songs I thought would ease me in, but by the second one I was ugly crying, face contorted, rocking back and forth, wanting to stop it but needing to keep going. Knowing I could keep going, the music here to keep me company, all songs I know and love. I let my thoughts wave in and wave out, I watched myself try to control and judge my thoughts, to get away.

We don't have time for this

Don't do this to yourself

Why are you crying

This isn't helping you feel better

That doesn't even matter anymore

Haven't you felt bad about this enough

Crying is dumb you're a grown up

Really what's the point

But my bossy thoughts were no match for the music, it washed over me and with dread and relief I let it take me- even though I also knew it was taking me to something I'm supposed to avoid. Says who?

The music reminded me of different times in my life, it showed me where I was sad then but I'm not sad in the same way now- it showed me how grief evolves and changes as I evolve and change. For example, it brought in the sharp heartache of missing my children as little ones, the weight of their bodies in my arms and their arms wrapped around my neck, holding on to me so tight in a way that will never ever happen again. I grieve that, I will forever miss them as little- and not because I want them to be little again, but because of the very physical way I mothered then- by holding them, carrying them, feeding them... and what I missed in that time of their lives because of my drinking.

I thought that because the world couldn't handle my emotions, that I couldn't either, and that is actually not true.

I sat for about an hour, listening to my playlist I call "Grief". I cried, and laughed, and sang. I wished I could have wailed but the kids were sleeping.

Holding my life at arms length by pushing away my strong feelings is a result of the world being so intense for me and the ways I had to assimilate so I wasn't always in trouble or getting made fun of because of the way I naturally responded to my environment. I hate that.

I'm going to listen to my grief playlist again, it was uncomfortable but I also feel closer to and less afraid of myself because I did it. To me, the world is rushing by so quickly, and I just don't have time to rush. I am not too much. I want to sink into it all, I was made to feel. I am an adult now. I can learn how to do what I wasn't allowed to do as a child, it is never too late, so I will listen to my grief playlist and cry and laugh and feel the tender bright parts of me come alive again. And I won't yell at them, or make fun of them, or tease them.

Instead, I will welcome them home.