Emotion Becomes The Enemy

As a lifelong, deeply empathetic person, growing up, I always wondered why some people don't show emotion - why they don't let themselves properly grieve or feel sadness and frustration the way most others do.

Now, I know they likely experienced some sort of trauma, deep enough that they put walls up they may not know how to take down. I never wanted to be like them, but here we are, a lowered dose of Lexapro and plenty of therapy later, still working on feeling things the way I once did.

Traumatic experiences have a way of triggering your survival mode. Because we can only handle so much, our hearts and souls reach a point where the only way to get through it is to learn to become desensitized. Emotion becomes the enemy. Thankfully, happy emotions were the easiest to recover. I haven't lacked joy in my life, even through the worst of it, and for that, I am endlessly thankful. But it's been far too long since I let myself cry hard and fully work through all the darker feelings that I ignore.

Last week, I found myself getting frustrated that my leg wasn't cooperating during a PT session. It rattled me at PT and all the way home after. I felt almost embarrassed to say that I was upset about something as "silly" as my leg repeatedly sliding off from sweat and not supporting me during certain exercises. I know that working out with limb loss consists of trial and error while you figure out safe and effective ways to adapt your movements. So, I told myself that my frustration was irrational because this was to be expected. But I should have let myself feel what I felt without shame. I should have given myself more grace. This S*it isn't easy, and just because I do it with a smile on my face shouldn't mean that I can't have vulnerable moments from time to time.

I know I'm not alone in this struggle. It's because of what I've been through, and if you are living with chronic illness, ever experienced trauma, or have a disability, you know exactly what I mean. It's like you trained yourself to be strong for so long that you've forgotten that it's OK to feel things. Sitting with your sadness doesn't have to be so terrible. For some people, it's creative fuel. Have we forgotten that some of the best songs of all time were written on the back of tear-soaked, wine-stained napkins after a terrible heartbreak? I might be keeping this generation's best lyrics from the world because I refuse to cry.