What if I write about the fear?

I haven't been able to write as easily or often as I once did. For months now, the fear of sharing what needs to come out has inhibited my ability to express myself through writing, until this morning. What if I write about the fear?

I can't stop wondering if I crossed a line in some manner or made them feel uncomfortable by my attempt to converse. Did I ask the right questions or respond in the manner they were hoping for? I fear that I may have been too direct or confronting when it wasn't my place to inquire or share. I fear that I caused distress. Maybe I really don't understand the social cues that others put out. Sometimes right after I speak, or while the words are coming out of my mouth, I already feel like I did something wrong. I start to feel that pit in my stomach that tells me where I'm headed is a destination nobody else intended to go. I hate that feeling. I get it all the time. Then I tell myself that's paranoid. I'm being genuine and real, yet cautious about what I say, and I try to be mindful of the way in which I say or ask things. But sometimes my anxiety gets the better of me, and I think, well yeah, I ramble, quite a bit. Especially when my nerves set in, or when I'm excited about sharing something. I stumble over words. I overshare. I forget what I'm talking about or what the point of my sharing was. I sweat and shake. My mind gets fuzzy. I lose track of the mindfulness in those moments. When I stop to take a breath, I see their faces, and notice the quiet. Did I make any sense at all? Is there something wrong with what I'm doing? With the way I share, or respond to others sharing? Am I making people uncomfortable? I read and reread. Edit and re-edit. No, don't say it that way. Do you know what that sounds like? We want it to sound different. They're going to mock you. This will offend someone. You're going to make them feel uncomfortable. This is why people walk on eggshells around you. Always overanalyzing literally everything, and sharing how paranoid you are with words. But I don't know how else to be. I don't understand how I'm supposed to learn how to talk to people if I don't….if I don't collect data then analyze it to find commonalities, differences, and patterns. I don't know how to learn to be human without analyzing, without sharing my findings. While the Analyst and the Writer want me to share, another part of me remains so fearful of what the sharing will bring…what sharing will reveal to the world. How others will perceive and receive what I share and how I share it. Will they viciously tear apart my words or hear them with kindness and grace? My Self cares so deeply. She wants everyone to feel connected, accepted, welcomed, safe, and loved. She wants to share every part of our story, beginning to end, without fearing the process or what comes thereafter. She wants to raise awareness about early childhood sexual abuse and grooming practices, and help fellow survivors transform and heal. She wants to be silent no more. Free from the cage. It's the other parts who stand on guard, keeping her from being seen. They're fearful of the hurt and pain that comes with sharing. I've been taken advantage of too many times for them to not stand guard. Aspen and I were talking about my struggles with communication with others. Using the metaphor from the We Can Do Hard Things podcast, we realized that if a conversation looks like two or more persons traveling in a boat down the river together, not only do I cling to the river bank at times, unintentionally interrupting and throwing the conversation off course, but I often fall out of the boat, clinging to the edge while trying to not get taken under by the rushing water. This means I am not in the conversation. I am not in the present moment with the others who are participating. Something flipped a switch, turning off sight and sound to the conversation, and I am drowning in my own thoughts. Pulled under by and submerged in them. Like two pairs of feet in a water polo match, entangled in battle beneath the water, I and my thoughts wrestle. The amount of time it takes for me to surface varies. By the time I'm back in the boat with the others, I have absolutely no idea what anyone is talking about. I feel lost and confused, and often embarrassed. I remain quiet and reserved in most social settings for this reason. I'm one of those people who laughs when others do, but I rarely know why they're laughing. I just notice that others are engaged in a communal moment while I stand on the outside of it, wanting to be a part of it, feeling everywhere but in it. Can people tell when I've fallen out of the boat and am drowning? Does it happen to them too, or is it just me?

In therapy and group, I am often reminded:

I am having normal reactions to the abnormal things that happened to me.

The avoidance. The isolation. The silence. The fear. It's starting to become unbearable. I don't know how to relinquish control, but I am determined to figure it out. This is a step. Sharing which to the writer seems unshareable. This jumbled journal entry, a step it is. A step away from the fear. Not running from it, not allowing it to control my decision to share or not, but a side step. Parallel with it. Feeling it, noticing it, naming it. Walking beside it.

Hello fear, would you like to hold hands while we walk a while?