Soft.

I feel completely different from what I felt like a few years ago. And I wonder in what way I’m different and why and if it’s a good thing or not. The answer I find is: The last few years have made me soft. My relationship made me soft. Caring, vulerable, susceptible. The months in New Zealand made me soft. Open, defeatable, looking for closeness. My therapy made me soft. Humble, honest, in need of help.
And according to all standards I am better like that. It is alright the way it is. But still…sometimes I miss the way it used to be: I was tough, adamant, fearless. I had no compassion, not for others and least of all for myself. I hated nothing more than a person who admitted that something bad had happened to him*her – for me that would have been someone willing to be a victim, what was that supposed to be – after all we all have to cope with something?!
My therapist spent the first few appointments telling me over and over again that I’m ill (I still can’t say those words), that something terrible happened to me and that I have a right to feel bad about it. This pretty little head of mine translates this as: weakness. I wouldn’t call anyone else weak but there are other, special rules for me, I am no victim, I have a choice, I don’t need anyone and I can do anything…or not?

I am softer than I used to be and I treat others and myself better today. That is a good thing but sometimes my mind screams that soft is the same as weak. And tough the same as strong. My head can’t see that it’s possible to be soft and strong at the same time. Those are opposites for me and in my world it has to be either black or white, and certainly not grey. A very clever woman made me think about water and it helps me a lot – water is soft but no one who ever got carried away by a current would call it weak. I love water. So I try to be soft and strong like a current. And wrapping my head around the idea that it’s possible.

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