Sometimes I want to go back and become an accountant like my dad. Politely shout my rationality from the rooftops. Make sure all the lines add up all the way down to the bottom in black and white.
As this thought crosses my mind more often, I begin to realize that the rational part of my brain has overpowered other important assets of myself. I value the spectrum of my emotions but don’t take action on it. My logic stands tall on a pedestal. I convince myself that if I stick to the rules, the outcome can be within my control. What could be better than that? It’s my daily practice.
Well there are limitations to my coveted rules, my external image: I can speak to you with a smile. Smalltalk, fill the silence, even satisfy your needs. But don’t ask me a personal question. Don’t begin the exchange of self-disclosure. If you do, we’ll start to awaken what’s inside. Oh, I’ll maintain my composure and behave as I should. I might not even know that inside, fires are starting, blood is flooding my brain, rushing away from everything else that is vital. And I will remain trapped in my mind until I am alone in the dark with no more distractions. No more reasons. My armor will crack as the tears burst from me. The burning, the anger and ultimately the split empty heart will spill from my body.
As my wounds are open and raw, seeing, hearing or even smelling your displeasure hurts me to the core. I want to run from it but with my head rush, there is no blood left for my limbs, my organs. This festers for hours or days.
I grow angry, having no understanding of my condition until I catch a glimpse of myself in words. I let those exposed emotions, my vitals, communicate in writing by justifying that I need to share it with you. As the words appear I find a sliver of hope that someone is listening, engaging. Someone cares as deeply as my emotions are buried, will help me heal so I no longer need protection.
Rationality is a tool, not a religion. With emotions uncovered, I can begin again.