Discomfort

It's garbage day, and I'm sending away discomfort. 

Growing up in a difficult family, I learned to stuff my discomfort. Being hurt, tired, upset, angry or sad was not something I shared with my family, because it was not tolerated. I was expected to be happy, so I was happy. Anything else was a huge disappointment. 

I grew up not only being happy, but searching for ways to keep everyone happy. I would not be the problem, I would be the solution. This is how I survived.

As an adult, I lack boundaries. Unwilling to express my own discomfort or upset, I stuff my feelings so deeply that I barely know they're there. I often marveled at the bitchy women with husbands who were happy, and let them have all the opinions. How do they get away with that? They must be so much better than me, to be loved unconditionally even with their horrible behavior and intense opinions. 

I began to loathe myself. I must be a real monster if I have to be nice all the time, and any time I do speak up, I get yelled at. I married a narcissist because I thought no one else would have me and I let him yell at me every time I disagreed with him. I was always in trouble. He was mean when he was mean and fake when he was nice. 

Eventually I invited my narcissist mother to come live with us because I had to go back to work. When he lost the title of breadwinner, and the ability to control me with money, he went crazy. I had a job working long hours at a magazine. While I was away, my mother and husband would fight, and eventually my mom won. Actually, I won because somewhere along the line everyone moved out and left me alone. But I was still unsafe because I was accustomed to discomfort. 

I entered into a series of relationships that were primarily based on me not having opinions or expressing my discomfort. The people I was with just mined all of the good they could from me, and we did things their way, but I was unhappy. In time, I was lucky enough to enter into a relationship with someone so bad that I had to question myself. What was wrong with me that I would allow this treatment? 

A combination of al-anon meetings, self-help books and youtube videos brought me to the realization that I was classically codependent and lacked boundaries. Most of this is fueled by my abandonment issues, which I really don't need anymore because I love to be alone. 

I still feel comfortable uncomfortable, but I need to stop. I need boundaries. 

Where do boundaries come from? Discomfort. Shit. I have to get in touch with the feelings that I've been stuffing for 45 years. When I feel uncomfortable, I have to speak up. Discomfort is not my friend. I'm trashing discomfort, because I don't need it anymore. I'm not the monster I imagined I was, I'm just a person, and I deserve to be comfortable. My needs are valid. It's garbage day, and I'm sending my discomfort away, because I've been carrying it for way too long.