Letting Go

Aug. 8th, 2007 03:29 pm
falcongrrl: (Default)
My dog when I was a child was this giant white chihuahua (well, relatively speaking, breed-wise) with a tan stripe down her back. She was a constant nervous bundle of energy that had a rather ocd-like habit of licking her nose. She was friendly and jumpy and quirky. She was kind of like me.

When severe thunderstorms came (and here in central FL they do, with clockwork daily regularity), she would tuck her tail between her legs and run under the nearest bed, huddling there and shaking.

When relationship fears strike, when I'm convinced none of my friends or family or my partner love me anymore...then I go to that place. That trembling, hiding place. And if someone tries to pull me out from under there, the impulse is to growl and threaten to bite their hand off. It all feels just that scary, and I both want and don't want to be left the fuck alone.

Why am i writing this? Because lately I've been in that place too often, and I want to feel compassion for myself. My dog couldn't help that she did that - she just did. She was scared. Sometimes it's okay to be scared. Sometimes it's okay to hide away from the world. And mostly, what I need is a lap to sit on, while I'm shaking...mostly I need to allow someone to pet me. But there are times when I can't manage that, or other people can't manage it - and that's okay too.


falcongrrl: (Default)

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