Gunhild Archer, counselor

I’m so grateful for having this space to share my process. Putting my experiences into words helps me go deeper (which unravels more information), and to own my truth. It’s not uncommon for me to share something and just moments later want to go back on what I said. Knowing my words are already out there makes me feel like I have to own them, which feels good. Although shame comes up; I can hold the shame too.

After I wrote the previous post (on Instagram), I had a number of realizations, which led to a beautiful set of morning pages the coming day.

What I had been grappling with could be summed up in a few vulnerable sentences:

I want to love, and to be loved.

I don’t want to let go, and I don’t want to feel the humiliation of continuing to love when my love is not being received.

Not being received in my affection brings up “unaccepted” feelings.

Upon the realizations, my morning pages brought me to a vast, desert like place. I was facing my parents, and the man I still wanted to have a relationship with. The variety of feelings that surfaced as I stayed present was astonishing. Grief, as I knew I would never be seen and acknowledged by my parents. Pain, as I saw their pain. Compassion, as I wanted them not to be in pain. Frustration, as I knew they had the power to become aware, heal, and rebuild our connection. Anger, as they had explicitly expressed their desire to have a relationship but didn’t take needed action. Calm, as I accepted the reality for what it was. It was different with the guy though. I knew he had the ability to meet me at my level, unlike my parents. I remembered his words from the day we first met, promising a level of intimacy I had always wanted. Yet, his actions completely contradicted the affection he had conveyed. He helped me reconnect with the anger of my parents letting me down. I was promised love but born into the lack of it, and I had been given them a free pass for all these years. I had downplayed their power and ability to choose.

For so long have I tried to move on that I forgot to acknowledge the reality of where I was. I kept telling myself:

“He doesn’t love you, and even if he does – he isn’t choosing you.” (Move on.)

“You will never meet anyone if you keep holding on.” (Move girl, get on with your life.)

“Your unwillingness to let go prolongs the pain.” (You’re holding on, why, let go.)

In rare moments did I allow myself to feel the grief. Not once did I allow myself to feel the anger. Why?” Because you can’t be angry that someone doesn’t love you.” I don’t believe that anymore. Why? Because I feel angry.

To avoid feeling the sheer amount of pain, I have stripped people from their innate power. I have sought to understand all the reasons why they didn’t use their power to make choices and to show up. I have given them excuses. If I had chosen an attitude of understanding AND an attitude of “they have the power to make decisions”, my world would have come crushing down. I would have felt the anger and the heart-shattering that came after.

Now that I’m able to acknowledge that, “yes, they have a valid reason for not wanting to step into their power, they still have the power and can at any time choose to step into it”, I feel devastated. They could have chosen ME. They could have chosen us – the relationship… But they didn’t. That’s something for me to see. It’s something I wouldn’t have gotten to truly acknowledge unless I let myself be present in the waiting room.