take time

I vividly remember one moment as a child when I sat in my bed sobbing uncontrollably. I couldn't have been more than 8 or 9 years old. I remember feeling so distraught because I wanted to do the right thing, to be "good," to not be disruptive. I couldn't understand why, in certain moments, this innate desire was bypassed by impulsivity and reactiveness. I cried because I wanted to stop feeling this way but I didn't know how.

I've always been sensitive to people's moods. I could tell when my parents were overwhelmed or upset. I could tell when people grew tired of listening to me. I could tell when my friends and partners were having a tough time. With this sensitivity came a feeling of responsibility. "I wonder if it was something I did?" "I have to fix this." "It must be me again."

These feelings created anxiety within me. I took their feelings personally. I felt hurt about things that hadn't even been said. This anxiety began rolling down hill and eventually lead to anger. When I felt marginalized, even if this feeling was exaggerated or invented, I would act out. My impulsivity short-circuited any rational thought I normally had. I would act out in ways that were hurtful to the people closest to me, not knowing why I did and immediately regretting it. I didn't know how to regulate myself or ask for what I needed.

Such patterns are difficult to unlearn, and this method of dealing with my emotions traveled with me into adulthood. When I felt like someone was pushing me away, keeping me at arm's length, or ignoring me, I became someone I didn't recognize. Whenever I was activated I felt out of control. Like I was possessed. The harms this caused are real, and caused people I love to experience anxiety, stress and sadness.

A cruel irony accompanied my behavior. When I lashed out, I felt immediate remorse as soon as the words left my mouth. I was racked by guilt and shame for how I had acted and usually apologized profusely. I would torture myself by replaying these conversations over and over, wondering why I couldn't just get it right the first time. It ate me alive that I was hurting the people closest to me, and I knew I had to change. Ignoring or making excuses for the harm that my behavior caused wasn't going to set things right. I had to acknowledge and own my actions in order to grow. The problem was that I didn't know where to go from there. I knew that I wanted to stop this pattern, but inside I was still the child sobbing in bed because he didn't know what to do.

Through therapy and inner work I came across attachment styles. The more I learned about them the more things fell into place. It finally helped me understand the why behind my behavior. I realized that my attachment style was in turn aiding this self-fulfilling prophecy of pushing people away. Knowing the root cause of this behavior helped me finally address it in a meaningful way. It was like I finally found the right key to the locked door that I could never get into.

My perceptiveness could serve me well if I took the time to use it properly. I realized that it's not personal, it's not always me, and it's not always something I can fix. If I take time to step back and interrogate my feelings, I can support my friends when they're feeling down instead of assuming it's because of something that I did. If I take time, I can be mindful that someone's anger or frustration might not have anything to do with me and navigate the situation smoother.

I have adopted this mantra as a daily, hourly, minutely reminder. Take time to check in with yourself. Take time to check in with your loved ones. Take time before you respond to someone or something. Take time to be present in the moment.

Learning this has helped comfort that distraught child. To let him know that his sensitivity and perception can lead to beautiful things if he learns how to challenge his impulsive assumptions. To show him the way to ask for what he needs constructively and kindly. To let him know that things are going to be difficult, but that he's strong enough and courageous enough to face them head on. For the first time, I am able to see the light in his eyes. There are no more tears. I pat him on the back as he rises from the bed to face the world with a new perspective.