Asking is Advocating

It can be a bit overwhelming to consider the myriad of ways in which life requires us to advocate for ourselves.

There are so many moments throughout the day that we self-advocate without putting much thought into it – like expressing the need to eat, drink, or rest. My biggest challenges arise when I'm faced with the things that are more complex, like the need to share difficult feelings that have to do with another. It's that latter piece of including the other person in the conversation that brings difficulty.

In this context, I'm not talking about encounters with people out in the world or trolling online – that'll be another topic in itself. I'm talking about approaching the people closest to us. Our friends. Our family. Our loved ones.

I see four core areas of struggle for myself : sharing when I feel hurt, angry, or upset…when I feel put down, belittled, or dismissed…when I feel taken advantage of or disrespected…or when I feel a shift in energy, a loss in interest, or a lack of importance. 

It can be so challenging to advocate for ourselves in these moments because the very need to do so highlights that we have fallen out of sync with someone. Things felt good, but then negative (or difficult) emotion crept in. Something happened, whether big or small, to cause a shift in a noticeable manner. Something said or done made emotions well up and rise to the top. Sometimes these instances are small enough that they can be overlooked. When they're bigger than that though, or when they're compounded over time, they require action.

When we fall out of sync with someone, we become distant and somewhat disconnected. Misattunement makes the happy, feel-good moments less accessible. We might not be able to enjoy the positive moments as much while those difficult emotions linger. To bridge that gap, we have to share what caused it in the first place. These more complex feelings fuel disconnection. The longer they go unacknowledged openly, the wider that gap grows – the easier it becomes to pile on or add to the void.

The tricky thing for me is that the need to advocate for myself in these situations is where I have a pretty big freeze reaction. I want nothing more than to bridge the gap, yet in sharing these big feelings, there is always the possibility for the gap to grow wider.

It's in these moments when I turn back into the little girl. At the core, she is insecure. She's unsure and confused. She'll let the gap grow wider because she doesn't know how to bridge it alone. She doesn't know if it's safe to speak. She doesn't know if she can trust someone to hear her. If I'm not quick to reach out for her hand, she will fade from view rather than speaking up.

Advocating for myself in these situations can bring to the surface questions of self worth.

When I did advocate for myself as a child, I was hushed or dismissed too many times in situations when I needed to be seen and heard. It wasn't just within the small day to day moments that I felt silenced. That would've felt more combatable alone. More normal. Silence came within bigger moments when abuse was taking place.

When I freeze, I'm sucked back into those moments of being a little girl. All the way back. Back into my first memory of being raped, back into that moment of being hushed when I said it hurt. Back into that darkness where I don't know who to trust or if anyone even sees me. I'm sucked back into hiding. Hiding in a hamper by myself or behind furniture with my brother. Sometimes even out in plain sight, with nothing but an invisible mask to conceal the confusion and fear. When I didn't know how or where to hide physically, I retreated inward. Dissociation became a shelter.

With these experiences within my home, with people that I loved and trusted, I learned to freeze. I learned to remain quiet and small, regardless of how big it all really was. It didn't matter how much something hurt physically, mentally, or emotionally. I didn't trust that I could be heard or held with love and care without something bad happening.

The really shitty thing about this is that I rarely (if ever) shared openly with my mom. I did feel safe with her. I did feel loved and cared for by her. I did feel important to her. My mom has been the light of my life since the very beginning. I've always seen and felt her warmth, but I've also witnessed her burdens. My mom had to deal with my dad, and my dad took everything out on everyone. Sharing any complex feelings about anything going on in our home felt like throwing a grenade and not knowing where it would land or who it might hurt. It wasn't just walking on eggshells. It was living in a minefield.

Instead of going to the person in my home I knew would hold me with love and care, I froze. I isolated. I would shut myself in my room to deal with my emotions on my own, then I would come out smiling later. This freeze reaction followed by isolating became second nature. It's been a wall in my way my entire life, as a part of my relationships and daily interactions. It stops me dead in my tracks every day. I can see through it, but I can't simply walk around it.

As I'm learning to navigate situations with complex feelings in a healthy manner, this need to advocate for myself becomes a game of questioning.

"Do I matter to them enough for them to care about the feelings I'm sharing? Will I be met with compassion? Will they hear what I have to say, and make space for it? Will they want to bridge the gap? Do they care enough to become attuned?"

I'm actively learning how to show up and advocate for myself in each of these situations – and that shit ain't easy. It's been an ongoing process for years now, and an intentional daily practice. I'm just now starting to understand it enough to write about it.

Each time I'm faced with this need to advocate, I freeze and fade. I begin to dissociate. I want to turn and run. I want to stick my head in the sand. I want to remove myself from it's view. My biggest fear in all of this is that when I speak up and lean in, the other person won't be leaning in with kindness or love. Hyperreactivity is something that terrifies me. It's the landmine waiting to explode.

Without another leaning in with equal force, we may lean in too far and fall flat on our face. It takes time to let a bloodied and bruised face heal. It takes time to believe that we won't always fall flat on our face or be pierced with shrapnel.

I always struggle to trust that another won't explode or shove me aside. That they will be there leaning in too, wanting to hear me with a receptive ear…wanting to bridge the gap too. So I often stand there waiting. Frozen. Wondering if I should lean in or fade away.

Eventually, I'll lean in slightly to gauge the presence I feel. Is it warm or cold? Sometimes I can feel them there, curious and interested. Maybe they've been there waiting all along. Other times, not so much. We can only hope that others have interest in meeting us where we're at, with where they're at.

This is where I get into noticing the ways in which people show up. They ways that we each lean in or pull away shows if we're attuned to another or not. Attunement helps me decide how to move forward. It gauges how safe I feel with a person.

Attuned interest is engaged. It's proactive. It's attentive. It's present. It's responsive. It listens. It asks. It affirms. It leans in. It checks in. It shows up. It feels warm and inviting. It feels close. It bridges the gap.

Misattuned interest is passive. It's reactive. It's indifferent. It's distracted. It's distanced. It's dismissive. It's defensive. It discourages. It trails off and fades away. It avoids. It feels cold, isolating, and lonely. It widens the gap.

Misattunement can leave us feeling devalued and invalidated.

When I say I want to sit with someone, I'm speaking from a place of advocacy in an attempt to bridge the gap. To say the things. To share the feelings. To become attuned.

I don't ever want to come across as dramatic or insecure. I don't ever want it to seem like I'm begging for attention, affection, or praise. I don't ever want to feel like a burden or that I'm too much. None of us want to feel that way. We have every right to advocate for ourselves in moments of feeling feel hurt, angry, or upset…in feeling put down, belittled, or dismissed…in feeling taken advantage of or disrespected…or in feeling a shift in energy, a loss of interest, or a lack of importance.

When we do lean in, it's wonderful if attuned interest is given from the start, but I wouldn't be here writing this if that's what we we're all met with nine times out of ten. If a passive level of engagement is provided – if one is hyperreactive, defensive, avoidant, dismissive, or even just disinterested, if interactions leave us feeling devalued or invalidated – it's really f'n hard to navigate the waters. If one can't meet us where we're at with where they're at, in all honesty, it can feel impossible to bridge the gap.

This is where I return to the questioning phase, and understanding the true need to advocate for myself.

I can make all sorts of assumptions as to how another will react to my words. I can make assumptions as to why their level of interest or engagement feels out of sync with my own. And I can let that fuel disconnection – but what if I just asked, in the right way, rather than assumed? Yes, that interest might indeed be passive or reactive, but what if it's just misunderstood? What if it just needs permission to speak?

I often wonder how many times I've missed out on connection with people or let a relationship fizzle out and die because I assumed something and remained frozen rather than asking about it.

Asking is advocating. Let's not be afraid to ask questions.