keeping my promises

i have spent a lot of time thinking this weekend, in large part to this woman's post; a post i just read, combined with what i've been thinking about, made a revelation just spill out of me.

i am not very good at keeping the promises i make to myself.

this is something that i have thought of a few times, but never with so much resonance; even though i have noticed the power of positive thinking, and felt first-hand how critical i can be, i never once thought that by breaking my own promises i was weakening my self-image.

now i remember all those times when i woke up in the morning, telling myself i was going to go for a run; or do the dishes; or research that paper; and i let myself "off the hook" for whatever reason. at the end of the day i always felt disturbed, and somewhat disappointed in myself.

granted, i am the person who creates 3-pages of to-do-lists each morning, thinking she can accomplish it all, and feels crushed when she can't. i have insanely high expectations for myself, and when they aren't fulfilled, i feel that i'm throwing the world out of balance, that i'm not doing my share.

this past weekend i've felt, a little, like i was running away from myself. i could feel the "space" (what i've since come to call "the hole") gnawing at me hungrily, even though i had company in the beings of two wondrous women; even though i was working and had homework and some socializing thrown in for good measure.

as an aside, do you know that somewhere in the world, i believe south america, someone thought up the alcoholic combination of red wine and coca-cola? and that it isn't half bad?

i tried to fill it each way i knew how. i made sure i had enough junk food to last me through my 'lockdown', a good movie, and some alone-time through the company. last night when i came home to my thunderously-empty house, i felt something give. it felt like the last strand of denial.

a few (short) years ago, i was coming out of an extended communal-living period. i had lived in various communes and couch-surfed for the better part of 6 years - and when i finally signed the lease for my own own place this july, it felt like i was fulfilling a sorely-needed dream, a place for just me.

it has been incredibly healing for me, and incredibly challenging as well. i never knew how deep silence could be, if there's no-one else to break it.

i love that i can buy whatever food i want to fill my fridge with, listen to the radio first thing, read until 3 am - but sometimes i forget, when i'm stretched out alone in my bed, that this is what i asked for.

it was in ottawa when i felt that need in me first cry out - this need to be alone. i remember exactly when, and where it was. i was living with the hobbit in our third-floor apartment downtown. i was working full-time as a cashier at an organic grocery store, going out most nights, and volunteering 30 hours a month on a crisis line.

part of my training as a crisis-line volunteer was to recognize signs of my own burnout. this has never been something that i have been good at, especially when it comes to helping people. i feel like i want to, and can, take on and on and on all the pain in the world, just to take it away from others. i felt a special protectiveness for women who had just been sexually assaulted - this instinctive knowing of how violating that is. i never wanted to sign off at the end of my shift; i just wanted to keep taking the next call, then the next, then the next.

one of the last calls i took was a 'regular'. i can't say much due to confidentiality, but this woman was schizophrenic and had obviously experienced some trauma in the past. she was so broken, and so lost, nothing i could say to her reached her. i broke from "the script", i ad-libbed, i tried to show her that i was a friend in some way and nothing worked. she got upset, said i was betraying her, and then she hung up.

i know now, as i think i knew then, that i couldn't save this woman, even though every part of me wanted to - but at that moment, i felt something in me give way. a voice in me said: stop. you can do no more. heal yourself.

it is that moment that i can pinpoint as realizing that i needed to change, that there was a part of me that was being buried alive by how i was living my life. it was the seed that, once sprouted, became the idea to start writing again, to make a portfolio, and send it to a university in montreal. i made a small promise to myself, one that i bent and circled around for months, but ultimately fulfilled - and that promise led me here. where, i can safely say, that no matter how challenging it is, i am living the life that i wanted for myself. me.

i won't say that i'm finished restricting myself with high expectations - that's too big to promise all at once. i can't say that i'm finished valuing other people's opinions above and before my own. but i can say that my voice is getting stronger, and i am trusting it more and more.

the more i do, the louder it gets. this is good. it feels wholesome.