Permission

My last therapy session connected a number of mental threads together into a woven narrative running through my history of trauma.

My therapist and I were talking about my biological father, and they shared that his loop was that what he had was never enough. He never had enough food (or anything really) growing up and this mindset was imparted upon him. As he grew up, his actions were defined by this mindset. He put himself through college working at a grocery store, eventually graduating with an engineering degree. He was no longer in the same physical place, but he never left that scarcity mentality. He always thought he didn’t have enough money. His relatives called him “insane” for buying a house as large as he did. I remember him habitually binging with too much food and becoming physically ill. It was never enough. He was never enough. This was his cycle. This was his loop – “never having enough.”

Out of curiosity, I asked what my loop was. I was amazed that I seemed to get a direct answer beyond “What do you think it is?”I started to cry as she explained that my loop was that I needed permission to be, to exist.

In school I was bullied and embodied the school reject. I was given no permission to be – quite the opposite. I was felt as though every manner in which I was were wrong. Bullying left me feeling as though my thoughts and feelings weren’t valid. That I couldn’t feel the way I wanted to – that it was wrong. That my personal interests were wrong and something to be mocked. At home, my desires about the person I wanted to become were rejected, neglected, and told were wrong. The only times I could do anything at home was when I was permitted to. I couldn’t do anything disagreeable. I would be yelled at if I tried to show individuality. I’d be guilt-tripped and told that I was wrong – that “under [their] roof” they’d do it their way and no other way. Ultimately, everything I would or could do came down to my parent’s approval. I needed permission for everything.This is how the needing permission started.

I remember this having a profound impact. One such example is the person described in the post “Cookie Monster”. I wanted them in a way I didn’t have words for, and the insecurity was so deep I couldn’t voice my feelings – I was petrified. I watched the experience unfold from the inside, paralyzed. Since then, I’ve made my peace with how ugly that situation played out. I acted from a place of trauma, and I had to accept that I did the best I could. Another example confounding this persistence was my inability to choose my path after high school. I wanted culinary to be my path. I didn’t have permission. College engineering was chosen for me, strengthening the mindset of “I needed permission”

This feeling of needing permission all the time really warped my senses. I was rarely ever to just be and not feel as though I was a burden. I would ask “Is this ok?,” and “Can I?,” walking through life with apprehension, trepidation, and fear. This resulted in the majority of my own life being spent in the shadows – hiding, waiting for permission, seeking approval, fearful of the disapproval of the shadow my persona cast. Presenting my true self to the world has always been a challenge – even before I transitioned. The concept that I know who I am, have my own interests and beliefs, and I’m not afraid of upsetting people has always been very difficult. I struggled to confidently say I know who I am and if you don’t like it that’s your problem … instead of withdrawing back into shame and fear. Transitioning after my suicidal gesture was my first moment in my life where I said “this is me, deal with it”

This thread of permission to exist has been woven into my entire life. In a way I was asking if it’s okay to have my own opinions, my own beliefs, and my own dreams. I was emotionally stuck in a survival sate, my own body reacting from an overwhelming sense of fear, and needing permission to simply exist. My desires were squashed in order to be agreeable. My dreams were thrown away to make room for other people’s dreams. My sense of self was thrown in the trash to have peace. To be agreeable. To be safe. In this way, my trauma robbed me of my life.

Looking back, I know I minimized myself as a survival mechanism. That mechanism persisted though, long after the danger had passed. It’s funny how trauma works though, because despite knowing all this, I know I still do it. I know I will learn how to confidently and unapologetically live loudly as myself. For me. For the paralyzed earlier version of me that never could.

We broke into a million pieces, and we can’t go back
But now I’m seeing all the beauty in the broken glass
The scars are part of me, darkness and harmony
My voice without the lies, this is what it sounds like

Why did we cover up the colors stuck inside our head?
Get up and let the jagged edges meet the light instead
Show me what’s underneath, I’ll find your harmony
Fearless and undefined, this is what it sounds like

What It Sounds Like – K-Pop Demon Hunters

#FeedTheGoodWolf