keyboardSometimes it seems that the process of transformation has more pain than “staying the same” would have had. I’ve felt awe each time I am scraped clean in the process of becoming – as if this new bout of stripping bare would somehow hurt less than the last round, because, somewhere I have the belief that “been there, done that so it should get easier” (which… ta-da! look at me! a hidden E-X-P-E-C-T-A-T-I-O-N! WTF! Damn! I am brilliant!) – and I discover the truth that it is godawful painful. What I seem to continually forget is that each new abrasion is landing upon a surface that is already raw and tender so it is going to hurt MORE than the previous wound.

Oh yeah. Damn that biology logic.

Over the last two weeks, I’ve been in an incredibly powerful transformation process that is ripping me apart on a gut level. It is detaching and severing every. single. belief that I have that is sabotaging me and, in the process, it is dismantling my core. It sounds horrible and dramatic, I know, AND it feels that way too. I’m not going to blow smoke up anybody’s ass and say that this is easy and sweet. Cuz it’s not. It is far from either of those adjectives. The truth is… it hurts MORE than anything I’ve ever done before – and I’ve been through some pretty tough shit.

However, I know a secret…

This pain WILL eventually stop. And this pain will never, ever, EVER recur. Unlike the pain of staying the same.

Throughout these two weeks, there have been many experiences that have caused me to gasp in pain, with tears and snot instantly running down my face as my body releases the old to make way for the new. I have blogged a lot about the process… I have faced into my fears about blogging about the process… and I have chosen to be true to me AND blog about the process all while fearing the residual battle that my words may provoke. I’ve been called on the carpet by my daughter, my best friend AND my listeners to practice what I preach and it has been DAMN scary to do so.

In all of this… in claiming my voice… in speaking my truth… I am aware that there are some who are taking it very personally and are feeling hurt. I ache with this knowledge. At the same time I know that the only way I could have avoided the present contention was to have never stood visible, to have never shared my truth, to have never put it out there to be heard. To avoid the repercussions of someone else’s pain would result in my own pain. That option is, actually, no longer an option for me.

I am aware of the experience of other people. I am aware of their pain. I am aware of the stories, thoughts, memories and insecurities that my words evoke for them. I am aware that they are crying and they are scared and they are feeling unloved by me. I am aware that my words are being received as a judgment upon their heads, as if I am pronouncing them deficient and incapable. I am aware that they are reading my words, hearing my words and are experiencing it all as though I am the judge, jury and executioner. I am aware that the things I have expressed about what I am going through, to them, feels mean and hurtful, cold and uncaring, one-sided and dishonest. I am aware that my processing in a public way is pushing several people over the brink and into a space where they feel they can no longer be in my presence. Not only that, but as an empath, I can actually feel all that too.

And… dear god! That hurts!

Especially because I can do nothing for any of them because it is their experience. I can listen to them. I can honor them. I can take accountability for the pain I am causing… because I am causing pain on some level. I can love them. I can appreciate their experience. I can continue to hear them and be there for them as they go through their own experience of my experience. I can do all that, but I cannot fix them. I cannot change their experience. I cannot take away their pain. It is all theirs. And part of me becoming who I am meant to be means I have to be strong enough – LOVE MYSELF ENOUGH – to stand in the face of their intense pain and continue to love myself enough to stay true to me.

I have claimed my voice. I have claimed my body. I have claimed my power.

Therefore, I will wield my voice, my body and my power with loving appreciation to express all that I am here to express.

Because, for me, to do anything less will kill me.

There is no longer any person or thing that is more valuable to me than my own life. Nothing is worth the risk of losing me.

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0 Responses to Growing Pains…

  1. Jen says:

    My amazing friend Angie,
    I just started writing you an email. Quickly turned to a personal journal entry. Even more quickly turned to a painful, heart-wrenching, sobbing.

    I was writing in my personal blog – the one no one sees but me – and I noticed that Angie had put up a new post.

    So, I came and read what you wrote. Almost in a hopes of distracting myself from my own pain. It did not work.

    I have never wanted to hurt anyone. That desire has kept me from DOING and saying a lot of things. In the past year, I decided not to let fear or guilt run my life anymore. It has been amazing.

    People are hurting. Some because they feel so afraid, some because who I am just hurts them, some because I am not just sitting quietly like I used, and some probably would have been hurting no matter what I chose to do.

    I felt this overwhelming pain, I know they are hurting, and I wouldn’t change a thing. I KNOW they are hurting, but I wouldn’t go back and take away their pain in exchange for the way I used to live. I am more important to me, than their pain is to me. And that scares me to death.

    I haven’t yet learned how to sit with a friend who believes I am causing their pain and not fix it. I haven’t yet learned how to listen to someone share their opinion about what I should do, and not do what they tell me to, especially when they say how much it hurts them that I am not living “right”.

    Thank you (again) for being such a HUGE part of my journey. I’m sorry for the long comment. I wanted to share with you, even though I’m not sure why… just wanted to cry on your shoulder, I guess. So, thanks.

    • Jen,

      I am so touched as I read through your experiences of growing, stretching and transforming yourself. I am appreciating that you and I are sharing together in this journey that can be SO gut-wrenching and heartbreaking while at the same time abundantly joyful. When I read your words here in comments or on your blog, I feel a quiet relief knowing that I am not alone. Thank you for coming here to share with me about what you are going through, for being willing to take the time and write it out for me and for being comfortable enough and trusting enough to cry on my shoulder. Your tears are honored here, my friend.

      Much love to you, dear girl. Blessed be!

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