I used to be an extremely sensitive and emotional person. I used to literally cry at the drop of a hat (It was a heavy hat, ok?), bawl at the sappy old Bell commercials and have the 1-800 number on speed dial for the humane society promos. When I was little, my parents used to ask me why I was so sensitive when I screamed, “SHE”S GONE MAD!” the day my indoor cat scratched my arm to bits when I took her for a walk on a busy street. :/ I’m not saying I’m not a softie anymore. Don’t get me wrong. I swore like a muthaeffer when I stepped in that mud pile in my brand new white shoes. I DO cry. Really, I do. I just CAN’T seem to cry these days.
It’s not like nothing sad ever happens to me. I watch emotional movies. Nothin’.
I stub my toe. Nothin’
My daughter’s third fish died again. Nothin’
WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH ME??
It seems I may be looking at this from the wrong angle. Maybe it’s ok that I haven’t cried in ages. Isn’t that good thing? It’s not like I’m hoping something tragic will occur that will finally unleash the floodgates or anything.
And yet, I feel it. Right in the middle of my chest.
It’s big and probably hairy. I can best describe it as black, ooey and yep, hairy. <I checked>
Every time I go into my daily meditation, it’s jumps right up and sits there. It’s like it believes it’s been invited or something and can’t wait until I sit down and get real quiet so he <I think it’s a he> can yell, “HELLO!! I’M HERE NOW. IS IT PARTY TIME? IS THIS UNCOMFORTABLE? OH I AM SO SORRY NOT SORRY!” He’s kind of a jerk. A big fat hairy jerk.
He’s probably not a jerk.
He’s probably there to remind me of something.
I’m sure he’s not there to remind me to go buy those amazing shoes I saw the other day.
I think he’s just stuck. I think he’s shown up to show me I’ve been avoiding him too long. I ignore him constantly.
He’s right. I have been avoiding him. Like the plague.
I think I am going to give him a name because ignoring him doesn’t seem to be working out for me. Let’s see. What’s a good name for a black, oozy, hairy mass of goo that has become a big fixture in my life.
Fred. Naw. (I’m pretty sure my Uncle Fred wouldn’t be happy about that one.)
Gerard. (Too close to an old boyfriend’s name :/)
Stanley? Porridge? What?
OK. Sam. Yes. I like that. Sam it is.
Now that I’ve given this massy-black thing a name, he’s super real. I suppose I won’t be able to ignore him any longer now that he has a name and all.
I know I can’t ignore “Sam” anymore. I can feel the pressure he puts on me growing every day more and more. And I’m sure you all know what happens when you ignore something. IT GETS BIGGER. Aw great. Now he’s bigger. And right there. And so loud.
OK. Here goes. Ima gonna cry. And gooooooo.
Hmmm. Let me try again.
WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH ME? WHY CAN’T I CRY?
Quick. Somebody tell me a really sad story.
I feel like if I do cry, I’ll have to be sad and not happy anymore and have all my hard work at being super positive, change your thoughts/change your life momentum I’ve built up for months will all go to shit the minute I say yes to Sam. The minute I release what I’ve been holding in, the Universe will give me more sad. And since the Universe responds mostly to emotion, won’t it mean doom for me if I cave in?
What I didn’t realize (until I bounced this idea off of my coach today) is that we are not really our thoughts. Exsqueezme?
We aren’t. We aren’t supposed to be attached to our thoughts. They are just things that float by and through us and we are ultimately wired to not attach ourselves to them. The Universe isn’t punishing you, it responds to you. I have been worried for months that if I break down and release the “Sam”, that I won’t be able to manifest what I’ve been trying to manifest this whole time.
But the truth is, I’ve been doing it wrong. Ish.
Having the emotions move through me, instead of stuffing them down, is the thing. Because if we don’t feel, how can we truly be our true selves? We will just be walking around the neighbourhood all pissed off at one another not knowing why. I bet that’s why each time I get behind the wheel of my SUV, some impatient, angry, aggressive commuter rides my bumper like it’s a magnet to fridge. They are the perfect example of what happens when you don’t express your healthy emotions. I do NOT want to be like them. Their faces are all gnarled up in a perma-scowl and you know what your Momma said: “If you make that face it’ll stay that way.”
Hey, Sam! I’ve decided to be your friend. I’m gonna say hi next time you come and sit on my chest. (Dude, how much do you weigh anyway?) I won’t push you away or resist you next time. And maybe the tears will come on their own. Maybe they won’t. But at least I won’t be holding it in, afraid of it. I’m allowed to feel. I don’t have to be all sunshine and rainbows and unicorns. The Universe won’t punish me for melting in a heap on my bedroom floor. Then maybe Sam will lose some goddamn weight ( I mean get lighter and smaller) and I won’t need him anymore. The one thing I refuse to do is stuff him down. Cause who wants to have a gnarled perma-scowl face all the time? My laugh lines are just fine for me. 🙂