Pulling myself up out of the angst-filled pit

This could be an angst-filled pit.  But it's actually a Mayan grave that I am desecrating.  My eyes are closed because I'm in an ecstatic state of wallowing bliss.  Mmmmmmm, aaaansgt.

I had a big, long angsty post half-written, but in the interest of declaring this blog an angst-free zone because I'm so sick of myself a wee bit stuck on that, I'll give the distilled version:

The tax fairies were good to us this year.  Probably to make up for all that unemployment.  And for once, their beneficence didn't have to be funneled directly into a pre-existing hole. 

So.

My Love and I, we both have dreams.  His involves a standard, socially acceptable path of formal schooling with a pretty good guarantee of a career on the other end.  Mine involves self-love and self-development in a form that looks suspiciously like a frivolous vacation and has no promises of paid employment.  But, in its way, it is every bit as important and necessary to my future well-being as his.

Is his dream more important than mine?  

Because apparently I believe that it is.  Ever since we put it in the savings account, my little reptilian brain has been silently handing over my half of the green fairy juice to him to pursue his dream, while I wallow in an angst filled pit. I keep saying that it's "our money," while stepping aside as if I don't count.

Why am I automatically giving my Self away? 

And it is me.  Because I have hounded him to death discussed this with my Love many times.  He knows how much this means to me.  And every time I say, "This is what I think I'm going to do," he says, "Ok.  We'll make it work."

And here's where I get into trouble.  Because his reaction doesn't look exactly like I want it to.  My expectation is that he will say: "Bebe!!!!!!  That is so great!!!!!  What will you do, exactly?  Tell me every single detail, even if it means that we talk long into the night and I am too tired to function at my job tomorrow!!!!  You know, the job that I work that is supporting your ass right now.  And then I can't pay attention in my night class, the one I'm taking to reach my own dreams.  But my comfort does not matter, for I am only focused on you!!!!  Oh please, my angel, tell me!!!!!!!" 

Or something along those lines.

But my Love rarely speaks with an exclamation point.  Let alone a string of them.  That's just the way he is.  He cares, he is interested, but he is not effusive.  So because I do not get my expected reaction, the one that would (supposedly) assuage my guilt/fears, I trip on back to my slop pit of angst-mud and roll around, telling myself how very selfish and irresponsible I'm being for wanting something very, very important to me.  No, no, I'm much more comfortable here, really.

This is my tired old script, and my Love the unwitting lead, like Truman Burbank in The Truman Show.  My expectations set me up to replay it on an endless loop, which I suppose, is the goal.  Because then I don't address my ingrained feelings of selfishness and my fears that he will leave if I do something very important for myself.

I'm through with it.  Seriously.  Angst-free zone.  Starting now.  One change a week, two days early.  Because I'm so good at sticking to that.

(Yes, that was distilled.  You're welcome.)

Comments

[McCaffery]

I love reading because you are so aware of your inner processes and the self awareness you display, and the honesty. "What does not come from the heart does not reach the heart." You come from the heart. Have a nice angst free weekend.

[Stacia]

Thank you so much McCaffery!  I try.  And it has taken a very long time to get to this point.   Thoughts and reactions used to control me, and they can still give me trouble from time to time, so Im trying to learn not to take things quite so seriously.  And the gift of that, and increased awareness, is more peace than Ive ever been able to claim.

You, too, speak from the heart with honesty and its why I look forward to your posts as well.  Thank you.