Authentically Practicing Patience

 

Patience…

I have an odd relationship to the idea of patience. In some ways, I am an incredibly patient person. For most of my life I have bent to the will of others and done whatever I could to make them happy. Denying yourself absolutely everything takes an immense amount of patience.

That was how I defined it. How long could I hold out until I finally erupted with suppressed rage?

It occurs to me now that this is not actually patience.

I think one of the hardest parts of healing is unlearning things you have believed all your life. I have a lot to unlearn, and this one took a very long time.

In fact, this is a pretty recent realization. I am two-thirds of the way through my 41st year of life, and this is just now occurring to me. I think it’s funny how the child who was “so mature for her age” has actually been trailing so far behind her peers this whole time. Not funny in a ha ha way. More in an absolutely devastating way. I’m kind of getting used to this feeling. So many things recently have caused this reaction. I am learning to accept it. At least I figured it out and can learn and grow from it. Lucky me… 

But, back to patience. 

I’ve been in therapy for quite some time now, and cultivating patience has been on my goals list since day 1. I was convinced at the time that I was not patient enough. That if I could just master myself, I would be able to help and heal others.

No, Em… just… stop…

Accepting that everyone is on their own path and that I cannot expect to change anyone else was a tough one. I wanted to help. I wanted to heal. I truly believed I could. I could take their pain away. It’s a grossly selfish and conceited thought - and also entirely based in fantasy. I know the reasons behind my thinking and where it all came from, but it still happened and it makes me feel terrible. This whole time I believed I was being a good person, a good friend, but I was most likely making it worse.

Or maybe not. Who knows? I know that’s the story with some people, and there is nothing I can do to change it. I just don’t have the energy to work against external forces. I’m busy battling my own demons. 

Like patience.

I was correct about one thing - though I did not understand it 100% at the time. The only thing I can do is master myself. Not in a stoic, repressive, and abusive sort of way. But, in a way where I learn to deal with my bullshit, learn from it, heal it, and grow stronger from it. I’ve spent a large portion of my adulthood chasing physical strength, but I think what I truly need is mental strength.

I think that’s what patience truly is. Mental strength and clarity. A certainty that comes with knowing yourself and acting authentically. 

So, now that I’ve figured that out, I have to now start work to actually cultivate it. This is where authenticity steps in. Another word I have struggled with for most of my life. So much so that when I won an award in English at my high school graduation, the gift my teacher chose for me was a book about living an authentic life. In high school.

She knew what I didn’t. She knew what I needed even if it would take me another 23 years to truly figure it out. I am constantly grateful for that woman. Cindy Murphy taught me music and English and introduced me to theatre and Shakespeare. Most of all, she accepted the mess I was then and made me feel safe. There are very few people who have made me feel safe. They can be counted on one hand. And, she had to deal with teenage Em - the most fucked up of them all. That woman had Patience. 

Lately, the topic of authenticity has been coming up in therapy. It is a challenging thing for a recovering people-pleaser. You cannot be authentic and also morph into whatever you think people need you to be. So, I couldn’t even begin to consider living authentically until I could address the people pleasing and the fear of failure and all of that bullshit. There are so many layers to the bullshit.

It’s taken a long time to get here, and honestly, it’s not a comfortable place. Because when you decide to live authentically, you have to actually be yourself and accept whatever comes along. Good and bad. And, because of my anxious brain, the bad is actually easier to accept. I have prepared for it. I know how to handle it.

The good, however, is another story. Honestly, I have not had many negative reactions. Which makes me realize that this is more fabrication. More of this negative dreamworld where I am the main character. I don’t like being here. I don’t like facing this part of myself. It’s incredibly uncomfortable, but I do think it’s necessary. It helps to figure out exactly what I want out of life. Which is the very foundation of living authentically.

Life is a journey, and I am a work in progress. If this blog is a bit messy, well, that’s where my brain is at right now. 

I saw something recently that said “you can’t love yourself and hate the past that made you”, and I think I finally get it. I am learning to make peace with my past. It was disastrous, but I was not functioning from a place of health. Far, far from it. 

I don’t hate my past anymore. It makes me sad. It makes me angry. Some days it is exhausting just thinking about it. But, I have compassion for everyone involved. Mostly I feel for the confused little girl just trying to keep her head above water. Just trying to be loved. To be accepted. She deserved more, but she did the best she could with what she had at the time. She was pretty strong even then.

So, there are also bits of celebration amidst the rubble. Nuggets of strength. Of resiliency. Proof she was already far more than anyone gave her credit for. And, now, I have the benefit of hindsight. I look at her now, and I can see beyond the sadness. Because I know that she survives.