Crying at a bar.
But as the title suggests, it wasn't a bad thing. Not in slightest, actually. It's what happens when you have a psychologist friend who decides to poke at a wound that you try and try and TRY to keep hidden.
On top of that, I HATE crying in public. I would rather DIE than show vulnerability, which demonstrates the sometimes intensely private person that I can be. But when I do cry in public, when I finally let it all out, it actually feels refreshing and cathartic; as opposed to crying alone, where the only support system is a bathroom towel, or a pillow.
I guess this is all in attempt to surround myself with more community. And, I'm doing a bit of "spring cleaning" from my past, throwing out all the baggage I've carried with me for the past two years.
In case you're wondering, this convo was in fact about J, and how much he affected me and the way I see relationships, love, and...the kicker...myself. That's what made me cry, when my little therapist friend, Beth, pointed out how I saw myself as inferior. The lack of love I received from him translated to "Ashley, something is wrong with you." Well, in my mind it did.
It's been two years, and I still carry that with me. Although I've made such progress (seriously though), I've also been holding on to this horrible baggage that has kept me moving forward in the love realm.
It's the whole idea of having a wound you can't stop touching. I poke my bruises all the time.
"When we are broken and damaged, we somehow convince ourselves that we deserve that pain." (a quote from a pastor from Mosaic Church in LA).
That's when the only thing I can do is turn to God when I just...can't...let...go. There's this Christian fallacy that believing in God means that you can let go of things over night. I'm not sure that's always possible.
Letting go of the past has been a loooonnnnngggg process for me, but a process that I am supposed to go through. It works with my personality. I am over-analytical and sorta shy, and it takes me eons to open up to a person. It only makes sense that it would take me a long ASS time to let go of the past.
I don't feel bad about that. I'm just working on not looking back as much as I do. I'll be placing a band-aid on the wound, knowing it's still there, but resisting the urge to poke.
