A witness is staying present for me. In my mind I feel anxious, frustrated, uneasy. I am aware someone is observing me as if they want me to do something. I do not know what I should be doing. I feel out of place. Constantly seeing myself through the witness’s eyes, I am outside of my body. Unable to stay still and simply experience. Frustrated with myself I acknowledge I am angry with myself. At this point, I cannot really move normally. My soma is simply walking back and forth, looking around, trying to shake things off through shaking the arms. I start to notice a protruding fear of being judged underneath. I am able to understand it because it is not the first time I find myself here. In reality, my own judgments of not being enough whisper within my head. However, the whispers are so loud they resemble a buzzing noise making it impossible to differentiate the words they say. I recognize I see myself through the witness’ eyes. It is not their eyes looking at me, it is my imagination (projection) inventing stories of how they perceive me. Something I obviously passionately believe in. I think they are dissatisfied with my movements, that if I start expressing something, they would say I am not truthful to myself… as if they know what my truth is. Recognizing the fear is perhaps the first thing I have to remember. I am afraid of being seen. I am afraid my soma will shamefully expose me. How can I defend myself? I feel naked. I cannot prove my emotional reality to be true. I remember the fear of being verbally attacked every time I was that unmasked. Being so bare creates uneasiness, anger and defencelessness. Containing this powerful emotion, I put boundaries around it bringing it back to my soma. I sense my heart beating. A fear of rejection. I can hear my loud heart with my ears. I cannot calm or stop it, but I bring the focus back to myself. I feel I have to unleash these feelings by naming them. I kept them for myself for so long that this “strong”-ness trapped me into a vicious prison. Unable to set a single emotion free really made me hide every spontaneous bodily expression. Sharing with the witness is what I need to soften the control, although I may start crying which is even more terrifying.
Admitting I am controlling has always been the hardest for me. It is the reason why I began the journey of finding my soma and learning how to stay present for it, listen to it, allow it to speak. My ego was trained on how to reject myself the same way I was rejected in the past. I consequently learned how to self-control my emotionality in the hopes of being accepted. It is a state in which I cannot breathe, in a state outside of my soma. As if my soul has left the body chasing the one that abandoned me. I needed to leave my body in order to survive. I had to leave my inner world. I could not defend it or prove it is right. The tension of self-denial of my own feelings makes my chest tense. The tension of suppressing the fear of being left alone. The fear of my inner child who did not have a choice but to hold this within her body, while trying to continue her life with or without this very substantial part of her soul.
My ego is frightened that some unwelcomed emotion will transpire. It constricts and closes me to the world. It does not allow me to connect to others – like a solid muscular wall, preventing me of being touched. My heart is tense. Hurting. I established the image of a firm, impenetrable person, to pretend I do not care. My pride is overshadowing my needs. This part of myself protects me from being humiliated by admitting I need another. I am dependent on others. I simply need them. A trauma formed early on more particular, by mother, who never seemed to need anyone else but herself. The belief in my family has always been “I have to be strong, to clench teeth, to swallow every feeling and force back every tear trying to fall down my cheek.” If one has feelings, they are considered “being wishy-washy and unnecessarily sensitive.” It is a whim, lack of seriousness, childish to express any emotionality. My chest is a heavily guarded prison, and my heart is the prisoner. Emotion is filling and bursting the prison, but I take a breath and suppress it further. I do not know how much space more there is for suppression. I feel is not much. My chest muscles are aching from constriction, but the flood is surging.
Being vulnerable is equal to being humiliated, weak, and ashamed. Who would want me this way? Who would want me showing pain and tears, cracking the “perfect” muscular mask? Tears flow defrosting my heart. I feel relief to admit I need another to share myself with. Embracing this sensation softens my entire soma, deepening the connection to my emotional self. Grief finds its way out healing me on all levels.
I do not even have to move. I simply need a witness for all this to emerge. A desire to move is present, however that is when all blockages arise. I have all the freedom, but that is not enough. Something needs to be embraced and allowed before continuing forward.