Discharge of Energy
Cry baby, cry. No need to build up decades of pain.
this is the fourth story from the emotional support series.
previous story: Second Chances Never Die
i was ten. no-no. maybe twelve. i can’t recall. but i know that periods had not started.
i did something my mom disliked. something very innocent to a child. what? gosh, i wish i could remember but i don’t.
on that day my mom screamed like a politician on a stage as if she was losing her fight. she said, “go in the corner. stay there! and think about what you’ve just done!”
“no, i don’t want to.” i said through thunder tears.
“go!” she pointed in the ghostly hall. “and don’t leave before you know what you’ve done.”
she then disappeared from my sight when she slingshot back in her room.
with eyes-opened, i saw no light.
with eyes-closed, i drowned in dark.
i felt unloved by my mom. by the world. by everyone i knew and didn’t know.
i crumbed in the storm.
my tears broke down on tracks of drought. they flushed the cracks with downward thoughts.
my heart broke down on doors of fear. it washed the soul with downright tears.
in that empty space, i felt all alone.
i cried a lake of painful tears with my face like a cloth soaked in water. and then i did it. i made a choice that changed my life forever to come.
i said to self, “i will never allow anyone to hurt me ever-ever again. and i will never allow anyone to make me cry. i am done hurting.”
on that pivotal moment, i zipped-close the bulletproof camouflage vest around my chest. i then glued on the combat helmet and pulled tight the military boots.
not to fight my mom. but to protect myself.
8-years of orphanage-hood and a few years of parent-hood locked 99.11 percent of my tears behind my self-built dam, wherein i lost the permit to open the gate to water the soil.
i wished for no one to feel what i felt.
to feel unwanted. to feel unloved.
to feel emotionally numb.
back then, unknowingly, i made jokes with zero breaks to hide my tears. i said to self, i have to be strong. i can’t show my vulnerable sides to anyone in view. so be funny and entertain others.
my laughter won olympic medals. layers thickened. habits strengthened. and i found it hard to drop a tear.
from age 14 to age 32, for 18-years, i met a few moments when the dam broke down. when droughts got flooded with torrential rain.
first, at age 14 (plus-minus a year) when my mom found out that i stole a junk of money from her and dad within a year, i cried for days through tides of suicidal thoughts.
second, at age 22 when my grandma’s last wish to see me for the very last time got blocked by mom. my grandma gasped her last breath the minute i touched the knob of the front door. once i heard the news, i cried in isolation for 1-week full.
third, at age 24 when i injured my knee, i swooned on n’ off with jokes hand in hand through all 4-surgeries in 1.5-years that knocked me down to the ground.
fourth, at age 26 when i had left estonian for an unknown time, i longed to connect only with locals, never with estonians outside of estonia. the realisation on how much i disguised my own culture, my own country, robbed my speech and reddened my eyes.
fifth, at age 27 when i struggled to express my deepest thoughts and feelings in perfect english on my road less traveled, i cried my estonian accent to distinct.
sixth, at age 31 when my life collapsed at the end of my cycling trip. i sat amazed. in a snap, i lost the recognition of who i am, and i couldn’t recall who i was, wherein, i met hatred within myself for all i had done and wished to do.
then it began. the undoing of the doing when for 1.5-years my unbroken habits broke one by one.
in 2016 my cheeks tightened. i could no longer laugh my pain away. fearfully, i stood on the crossroad of a dry n’ wet season.
ingrained feelings of rejection asked to be felt. they asked to be heard. and to be seen. they begged for release to reinvent my life.
i had no choice. tears detached the pressure valve. my face got drenched day n’ night.
coiled up emotions and stuck up feelings began to unravel decades of pain, loss and change. they opened all gates unopened before.
triggered by all n’ nothing, i became a friend to my friends, one i wished i would never have.
my radical honesty was unheard by many. my untold truths were seen as negative self-expression, but i had to say what asked to be said.
i felt freedom in speaking the truth of my heart.
i felt freedom in feeling my negative words.
i felt freedom in feeling all my feelings.
i felt freedom in my innocent tears.
in the process of undoing the doing, decades of unprocessed pain discharged the energy stuck in me.
it felt intense. but beyond rewarding.
now, in october 2019, i am still unlearning some toxic habits to free up space for better habits.
the truth is this — my masculine approach to protect myself still lives in me. i feel how it’s scared for it’s existence in the hidden corridors underneath my skin. but that’s okay. i will love the one who’s afraid.
after all, years of doing ask patience and time to undo the thing.
but what has changed?
step by step, i cry more often. when tears pop up — whenever, wherever — i allow them to rock my life to be. no matter who sees whatnot. who says whatnot. who thinks whatnot. i stay radically honest while i feel my feelings. and when tears come, i allow them to guide my life. to cancel, or reschedule my scheduled plans.
my tears are stories to be heard. to be seen. they are only here to make me better than i’ve ever been.
life says, cry. cry. it’s okay to cry.
my tears celebrate the intimacy with myself on how open i am willing to be.
and my laughter, when honest about my pain, it helps me to energetically integrate all lessons learned.
ps. i wrote a poem called up n’ down. you might enjoy its poetic lines.
here are today’s questions to your heart.
what if to protect myself is to allow myself to feel all that i feel in honesty with soulful tears that release the old, and welcome the new?
what if tears do the letting go on my behalf which in result will discharge fearful energy to house more love?
next story: Let’s Welcome Emotional Freedom
let’s feel n’ cry together,
— elsa
want more stories? visit LOVE OR FEAR →
