As if for no reason, the fear washes over me. The slightest slight, the most imperceptible insult, the littlest change of tone and it hits me.
First it’s a wall of shame. Shame at being wrong-footed at whatever it is I’ve been caught at.
Then I’m angry at myself for the shame: I know better than this, I’ve been trained and counseled and taught and convinced that I’m not broken and that I’m good enough and that I’m strong and wonderful in every way. Except the one that matters, the one I confront every day.
Then I’m weary of the anger, physically tired from the experience of holding things together. I no longer let my anger boil over and escape. That’s better in some ways, but it’s a loss to me, too, for now the anger stays inside. Swallowed, it does not go away, it just gets internalized.
Then I get discouraged: Will this never end? This cycle that I cannot seem to break? It doesn’t happen every minute of every day. In some contexts I’m fine, and at some times in all contexts I’m powerful and self confident and nothing bothers me, no one’s opinion matters.
But then it hits me. The slightest thing harkens back to some shame that’s embedded in my soul. It tickles a patch of unconsoled trauma. If I could identify these rough spots, if I could file them down or smear them with Vaseline to treat them then maybe they’d get better. But they are invisible. They are my demons and they are real, but they are invisible.
Until the wind whispers a certain way and I am suddenly ashamed.
And so I live in constant fear. Will I be OK for now? For the next few hours? Until tomorrow? Will it be worth staying together for now? Until tomorrow? For the next few days?
It depends on how the wind blows.