When I was a kid, I picked up the armor of not needing anything.  The armor of not asking or wanting anything because I was a burden.  It was known to me that I was only meant to be a helper in my home, not my own person with my own set of needs and wants.  As I grew this armor turned colder, got sharper, started looking more menacing and became coated in anger for what life kept doing to me.  A coat of arms made of victimhood.  I didn’t see the victimhood though, I saw it as a badge of honor, a shiny shield to show the world painted brightly with “look what I have gone through, you can’t fucking hurt me”.  The armor never stopped things from seeping in and hurting me though.  But it sure as hell stopped people from seeing the hurt.   

I was still that girl that didn’t need help, that didn’t ask for comfort because it never came anyway, I clung to every piece of my armor as if it were able to protect me.  As if the hurt pain and life weren’t flooding inside of it.  I felt as if the pain of being seen would hurt more than the life events that were happening around me. When you are raised around unsafe people, grow up with unsafe people, it is often this armor that keeps you alive.  It is often necessary for your survival in mind and body. 

And then you grow up.  And you make a choice sometime in your adult life to heal.  That you are tired of darkness and hurt drowning you and not being able to swim because you are carrying around the weight of this armor you have placed upon yourself.  You work so fucking hard to dismantle it.  Layer by layer you discover why this piece goes here, or this here.  Sometimes you think you are free from it, and you attempt to frolic about and see how your body feels without the weight, only to find mid stride there is some left.  You forgot to take off your boots, or your chainmail is snagged just out of reach behind your shoulder and could someone for the love of GOD please get this shit off me!?  

They can’t by the way.  Although people may be able to see this armor, you alone are the only one that can dismantle it completely.  It’s like when they reach to help you more armor comes up because your ego is saying “Wait a damn minute you weren’t suppose to see that”.  A fucking magic trick in survival and ego.  Self-preservation that we teach ourselves as children to survive is really quite amazing, and did a damn good job at getting us here, didn’t it? We give thanks to armor we have outgrown, and we learn to step out of it. 

The two pieces of armor that cling to me like my life may actually implode if I dismantle them are that of helping others and sabotage.  I have spent so many years of my life (all) trying to heal other people that I missed the part of me that does this also needs healing.  That my pouring into others as much as possible was also an armor of protection. A way of saying “please don’t actually see me, instead let me see you.”  I can trace this trick back to the exact moment I learned it worked in my favor.  It got me out of “trouble” for being upset my mom wouldn’t leave my dad after getting beat again.  I worked my ass off at developing that skill ever since.  

And when someone doesn’t “need” me? Well, that’s easy I just blow the whole fucking thing up.  Because if they don’t need me, that means they have come damn close to seeing me, and it probably means I have been vulnerable with them.  This has turned into a cycle I have just noticed.  I become vulnerable, I decide they have done something to me that breaks that trust or makes me feel stupid for being vulnerable and then I lash out like a teenager.  What I suspect a teenager would lash out like if given emotional freedom anyway.  

 I will burn entire friendships, relationships, any kind of ships straight to the mother fucking ground if I feel, even for a second, you have gotten to close to seeing the real me.  I would rather be in control than be seen.  The wake of people I have left confused and hurt by this is vulgar, and all because I don’t know how to be loved safely.  Because safety feels foreign and uncomfortable. My nervous system was not built on safety; it rages against something so foreign as calm, steady, and transparent.  My whole being starts panicking and grabbing the old armor as fast as possible while wreaking havoc on the perceived threat.  The threat being not abuse.  The threat being kindness.  The threat being open communication. 

Twenty years of therapy, healing, and working on myself have brought me here.  When I first started therapy, I had to learn about my emotions.  Had to have a child print out of the faces of emotions to start being able to name my own. I could name everyone else’s emotions, I could tell you what everyone else liked or didn’t like, I could tell you the depths and fears of strangers, but I couldn’t tell you if I was happy, mad, or angry.  And here we are, being inspired by growth instead of intimidated.  Seeing how old patterns repeat themselves if you do not acknowledge them, and armor stays armor if you continue to wear it. 

I think it’s time to get naked.  (I’m gonna keep my sword though) 

I will practice the pause more often and ask myself what part of me feels unworthy of calm, consideration and adoration?  I will notice when my nervous system starts reacting in old familiar ways and sit in the discomfort of knowing I am safe now.  I have created a safe life and space for myself and it’s okay to revel in that.  I will remind myself that the person I can control is me, and that is a job in itself.  I will focus more on my work and less on shining my armor up because I feel uncomfortable when I am vulnerable. I will continue my practice of gratitude and find joy in the beauty that is this life.  I will give thanks to the armor that served me so well and for so long; while also knowing it is time to retire it.