I think I might be becoming a better person.
Whoa. Wait. That’s kind of an odd way to begin a blog entry, right? Who starts writing about how they’re pretty sure (but maybe not positive) that they’re becoming a good person? And really, what does that have to do anything? But, the thing is, I’ve been doing some self-review of myself today. It started because of a post that I was writing for the Pagan Blog Project and has kind of continued from there; snowballed really. It is a little odd and strange, but I think as I work more and more diligently on this whole path work thing and I realize the things that I need to work on in order to making this living in ma’at thing that I’ve been doing that I’ve slowly but surely am on this road to better personhood. And we can all be pretty excited about that, right? Right.
I’ve noticed that I’m more affectionate. Due to PTSD, I’m not very affectionate and in fact, I’m rather cold. Think of the coldest thing you can possibly think of and multiply it by about 100… that’s where I am in the realm of “cold.” The fact that I have a husband who is willing to handle and deal with my stand-offish nature is extraordinary and I think, in large part, that has a lot to do with this. It’s been as I’ve been waltzing down this path toward a life that is wholly focused on ma’at, though, that I realized just how completely unaffectionate I am. I try very diligently to be loving and caring towards both TH and TS, but a lot of times when TS is doing is affectionate hugging and kissing, I find myself wanting to push him away. I know this probably makes me sound like a bad mother, but it’s really how I deal with the fact that I can’t handle physical affection. Hugs. Kisses. Hand-holding. All of these things completely escape me more often than not, but as I try very hard on working into the living in ma’at thing I’ve come to find that I’m more affectionate.
I walk up to TH and give him hugs for no reason. I stop what I’m doing, stare off oddly, and randomly say, “I love you.” (I’ve always done this but more so recently.) I dance around and lean in for a kiss. And instead of pushing away with a single peck, I stay for a few more. Sure, I still get squeamish and sick to my stomach when there’s more than that, but TH is careful. He doesn’t put his hands on me unless I say so. He’s careful enough to know that I have to be in the driver’s seat because I’m sexually anorexic. So, he’s aware and tolerates all of my oddities. But, I often wonder if my new found affection is leading him into a morass of confusion and uncertainty… (I just asked him for his thoughts on what I just said and he stared at me, laconically, and said, “I don’t bark up that tree anymore. But don’t think that you can kiss me deeply and just assume I’ll know you want to have sex. I don’t bark up that tree anymore.” Sad, but necessary… and true.)
I’ve come to notice that whenever I go to say something scathing or unwarranted, I bite my tongue. Sometimes, I do this literally but not so much anymore. I’ve come to find that my ability to keep heka to hand is more difficult when it comes to political discussions or picture posts via Facebook. I tend to find that I’ll say something and realize, after the fact, that I crossed the line. I apologize. I say that I took it too far and that I shouldn’t have said what I did. Or, I delete the post entirely. It’s not because I want to hide what I think or who I think I may be. I think, really, it stems more from the whole “words as power” thing. I know and understand that what I say, either online or in real life, can really cause a world of hurt. If I think long enough, I can remember the teary-eyed stare of a certain lumber jack when I let things go too far. And I swear that I won’t let it get that far anymore. I swear that I won’t suffer from Foot-in-Mouth Disease… unless warranted. (And that’s a different kettle of fish entirely.)
I’ve found myself more likely to relax and able to let things go. This is actually a supremely knew aspect to what I’ve been doing. I don’t tend to relax or let go of things. I harp and I worry at things like a terrier with a bone. I don’t like this aspect about me, honestly. In fact, it’s highly problematic and it’s why my PTSD has gone as far as it has without so much as a by-your-leave. But, as I go through my days and I dance along to music in my head or watch television for a few moments on my own, I begin to notice that I’m not worried so much anymore. I don’t sit there and worry about the things that I’ve done that have caused others pain… not because they don’t matter anymore but because I’ve apologized and it’s time to move on. I’ve watched as my mind, in dream form, works through issues that I didn’t know I had… and I sit in the back seat instead of driving. I watch as something else, for a change, works through the hidden issues and disentangles the knots. And I find myself enjoying this because I’m just, simply, enjoying.
And that, folks, is an important lesson. I’m enjoying.
I think these minor changes are good. I think they’re good for some soul healing and the “magical cure search.” But, I also think that they’re good for me and they’re good for the life I want to live whatever that may be. I also think that it might help in the future when I can safely say, “I’m not sexually anorexic and sex stuff of any kind, that’s not in a book, no longer makes me sick to my stomach.” One day.