A Dance

I wrote this a few weeks ago after I experienced this internal dance.




I have these three parts that do this seamlessly choreographed dance.

It starts with this part of me that tries to do everything and believes that I need to be the cool, unbothered, and endlessly “okay” while doing it. 

Sometimes though; we will reach a point when this part does too much, and then if I’m not paying attention and if I’m ignoring my needs, a second part will slip around and open a door, I won’t see it coming and I’ll run into a wall of the third part who is holding rage. 

fury. 
a swirling cyclone of dismay. 

it will say “no more,” but more expletive laced. I remember years ago this happened, I was so many spinning plates, and truly thought I was totally fine. Then I was almost done with dinner one Friday night, it was burgers, and someone innocuously asked, “Do you need any help?” 

I paused. I took a breath.

And it was in the space of a breath, that I went from being thinking I was good, easy breezy, to thinking, “this is the first time all week the two adults living here have even offered to help,” and then in a tone of voice that surprised even me I said, “No, but next time I’d be nice if you asked before I was nearly finished.” I was shocked by my own feelings in that moment, not to mention my reaction. 

I’ve noticed recently that it seems like when I’m over-functioning my anger only comes out after another part has opened the door. 

She’s much more unobtrusive than my fury, she’s in a suit, she’s got a briefcase, she’s carrying a three ring binder full of information ready to convince judge and jury why my anger is justified, “I knew this was going to happen,” she says, so she’s been keeping receipts. Behind the scenes she’s been silently collecting data and she only lets anger out when she’s sure we have an airtight case. 

She has exhibits, evidence. Neatly labeled and catalogued. She pats fury’s hand, in a “thank you for getting their attention and now let me handle this way.”

“See—here, here, here, this angry is the only reasonable response.” She says. I realize as I listen to her I don’t believe my feelings are enough, I need data, an argument. 

Here’s the thing though, if I get quiet and listen, to each of them; my overfunctioner, my fury, and my lawyer—if I create enough space to allow each of them say their piece—all of a sudden I see what they’re all, these layers and layers are protecting—it’s a part of me, they’re protecting—tiny, teary, and tender—who just wants to be seen. oh to just be seen? 

So, I scoop her up. 

I take a deep breath. 

I say, “I see you, and I love you, and you’re safe.”