God, as I understand Him...

There are a lot of things I know. When I am sitting silently across from a client and they try to find the words to share some experience with me, I know. Those experiences resonate.  I know what it feels like to be desperate. I know what it is to feel so alone that you’d cling to anything just to make the feeling stop. I know the crumpled in a heap on the bathroom floor, writhing in soul pain, screaming from the agony of it. I know the point where there is no more air for screams, only silent attempts turning to breathless gasps into the tear puddle. I know the confusion of shame-guilt-obligation-intense-fear, maybe even some version of love-but how can it be-I can’t leave-I can’t stay-I feel INSANE, I’m so ALONE feeling of a woman who has been beaten with fists or words or devastating emotional warfare. I know the conditioned submissiveness that holds that rage of injustice so far down that you no longer know which way the surface is; slowly, miserably drowning. I know what it feels like to do anything to stay alive, survive, hold on for one more day, hour, minute, second, to keep from finally just drowning completely. I know the desperation of sitting and pondering whether to just tie a rock to your ankles and end the misery. I know that low when you truly feel that would be a better choice for everyone. And I know what it is to muster all that you have left to stand up and fight for your life. For your children's lives. For survival. 

I know how silly it feels to to know that you're far too old and should not still cry like a child over something your parents have said to you. And I know how those words still sometimes dig straight into the deep wound you’ve covered with bandages all your life that you hoped would have healed by now. But it hasn’t and it hurts like it was freshly cut.  I know what it feels like to hate. Truly hate, with the venom of a thousand snakes, where your lip curls, your teeth bare instinctively every time you think of it. I know what it is to truly understand how someone can sadistically rip apart another human being with their bare hands in a primal rage. I understand that rage. And I know the deep shame and guilt of blaming it all on yourself. Being unsure if you haven't, in fact, been to blame for every bit of everything. To feel fundamentally bad, broken, unlovable. I know it deep inside me. My chest hurts when I think about it. Any of it. All of it.

I hold back tears sometimes when people sit across from me and try to find words to describe it. They look at the floor because they’re sure I won’t understand. They’re sure no one will understand. How could anyone understand? But I just reassure them that I know. I truly, deeply know. I don’t just pretend to know as a show of support. I really know. Sometimes I give them some of the words and then a flood of adjective and adverbs come out of their mouth like a good vomit that they’ve held back for too long. And I understand. Their relief is palpable. I know.

Yes, there are a lot of things I know. I know what a bad relationship feels like. I know the nagging little tug of that voice in the back of your head just whispering “something isn’t right” and “don’t do this” no matter how hard you try to ignore it. I know how it feels to just call yourself damaged or paranoid or unable to trust and say that it must be the reason that that voice is trying to talk to you. But you know. That voice is the truth that you know no matter what anyone else out THERE, outside of you says otherwise.  I know what it feels like to be so desperate for love or attention or not being alone or just ANYTHING to give you ANY hope again that you stifle that voice. And reason with that voice. And tell that voice to shut the fuck UP because you are GOING to be happy THIS time! I know. Lord knows that I know! I know how that voice taunts you later with “I told you so” and you feel so ashamed, so wrong, so utterly STUPID for not listening to it.  I know what a bad relationship feels like from beginning to end. I know every version of it. I know all the variables. More than anyone I've ever met, I KNOW a bad relationship.

And I am not in one.

Why would anyone believe that? I realize that I’ve become incredibly untrustworthy in that regard. I wouldn’t believe me either. And interestingly, I don’t really care. Because that voice, that one in the back of my head, is telling me “this is right” and “do this” and “this is what you’ve been trying to find” no matter how hard I tried to ignore it. And trust me, I tried to ignore it. I tried to beat it into submission with a baseball bat whittled out of all my scars, stab it with the thousands of blades of all my past mistakes, drown it the sea of regret that lives inside me, but it didn’t shut up. It never does, does it? It just gets louder the longer you don't listen.

I also know what it feels like to listen to it and do what it says. It feels a lot like laying in a lazy river and letting the current drift you forward while you lay back and feel the sunshine; relax into the tranquil calm that you longed for on the harder days. I know a lot of things. I know enough to listen to that voice. I know enough to not listen to anyone else more than that voice. That voice has a lot of experience. That voice knows much more than I do. It certainly knows much more than all those people out there, outside of me. It knows more than people who don’t KNOW. It never shuts up, not really. It always has something to say. You can’t reason with it and convince it that it’s wrong. It’s never wrong. You can just ignore it and feel the uncomfortableness of it when you do, but it always wins eventually. It KNOWS.

Some people call that voice God.

I call it something else. It doesn’t matter what you call it, it’s never been wrong. All you have to do is shut up and listen.

So, I understand that I am not trustworthy. I understand why there is so much doubt and why I am to be regarded as an idiot who has no idea what is good and bad and certainly cannot make good decisions for myself. I do, completely, undeniably, inarguably understand.

But, I’m not trusting me. I’m trusting that voice. It’s never lied to me before. It's never wrong. It has no other motive.

I’ve never listened to it from the beginning before, only after I’ve become desperate from defying it. I trusted it to take me to Mexico and I trusted it to bring me back. So, I will continue to trust it because the calm warm sunshine on the lazy river feels a lot better than all those other things I know.  It’s time to know more than hurt and shame and guilt and rage and soul pain.

And the only guidance I can trust is right inside me.

Namaste.