There was a time in my life when I only had a 30-second cry.

No, for real. Like I had 30 little moments where I allowed myself to feel the grief and loss and pain and then…I wrapped it up and moved into “fix-it” mode. That was it.

Now that I know what I know, it makes complete sense to me why I had developed that advanced coping strategy, but at the time, I thought it was a superpower.

[SPOILER ALERT – it isn’t.]

After all, I was mentored to be independent, self-sufficient, expect the worst, hope for survival, and keep my feelings to myself.

So I did, for a long time.

And it served me well, because over and over, my relationships taught me that my emotions, needs, passions, and authentic self were too big and would result in rejection and betrayal.

In pain? What a pity.
Confused? Better not show weakness.
Sad? Other people have it worse than you.
Hopeful? It’s naive to have expectations.
Scared? Lock it down.
Happy? That’s just a chemical – you can’t trust it.
Expressive? You’d better make yourself small right now.

I received the messages and added them all together to develop a strong, seemingly impervious barrier.

I was a steamrolling, achieving, tough gal who looked like a human on the outside, but was running like a machine on the inside.

Even my wonderful husband jokingly called me a “cylon” (look it up, whippersnapper).

And it served me well, because over and over, my circumstances taught me that my dreams, hopes, desire for safety, and the presence of my authentic self were not valued or desirable. 

Until…two young souls pierced all of the layers and found my heart.

My heart had been in a protected state, languishing. Sending out little tendrils of belief that would test the world to see if it was safe, often finding no place to take root.

But now, there were two little hearts that needed me to step further and further into my healing so that I could hold theirs as they healed and grew.

It was so scary. I was so afraid. The echoes of rejection and history of pain were front and center, and so many times, my survival brain was telling me this was all folly and would end in death.

To be clear, there was death. 

The death of dreams of what family life would look like.
The dissolution of relationships that couldn’t hold the reality of trauma.
The distancing of support systems that couldn’t sustain the long journey.
The deafening silence when it was all too much, and there was nowhere to turn.

And yet, I kept moving forward, learning to love more and more, stepping into healthier relationships and growing boundaries that gave me a safe environment to show up for my loves, for others, and for myself.

Until…my heart started breaking.

This might sound like bad news, but for me, that was when I knew that I had healed enough to shed my shiny chrome exterior and engage wholeheartedly in some of my relationships. It meant I was now “human-ing,” awakening ancient echoes inside my soul that said it was okay to trust, to love, to lose, to hurt, to cry, to struggle with mental health, to hold joy…all of it.

It wasn’t just okay for me to experience all of it; I could also embody all of it, and I would not die.

And so, here I have been over the last few years, showing up earnestly and honestly, trusting the people and places that have promised to make sure there is enough space for all that I am and hold.

Some of those promises have held – some haven’t.

But through it all, I kept coming back to the anchor that I would still rather be human.

In the last three weeks, I have experienced a devastating loss and destruction that I had not prepared a “safety plan” for. It has hurt so, so much. I have keened, mourned, yelled, screamed, and cried in this place where it feels like the identity that called me into healing has been stripped away and dismissed.

I am so sad.

And, even though it would be less painful to run back into my shell, I can say with complete clarity…I would still rather be human.

I will continue to hold hope, love, joy, sadness, pain, passion, anger, and frustration, experiencing the breadth and depth of my humanity, because all that I am and all that I hold is worthy of taking up space.

And friend…the same is true for you.