With all of the therapy, writing, reading, reflection, and somatic work, a lot is coming up for me.
Memories.
Patterns.
Correlations that I had not previously made.
I am finding that this process is much less like the discovery of something new and much more like noticing something that has been there all along. I would describe it as so much stuff from the past lying in a tangled heap on a closet floor, too overwhelming to tackle or ignore. Slowly, I am making order of it, identifying items and events, and putting them in their places. The tangled mess shrinks, and the grip of it all is loosening.
I am also discovering that memory is a strange thing. I don’t trust every detail, every conversation, or every interpretation. But I do trust patterns, especially those that repeat themselves in what seems like perpetuity.
I am trying very hard to engage this with humility, admitting my blind spots. I recognize that other people have had different experiences and interpretations.
I can’t know intent or motivation, but only I can name the impact they have had on me.
