Betrayal. Inadequacy. Misunderstood.

My mom had been after me for quite awhile to go see this naturopath doctor. Me, who puts off visits to the regular doctor until it’s COMPLETELY unavoidable, even though they might give me drugs that work. I’ve never been much into the voo-doo witch doctor stuff about herbs and tolerances and when you hold a jar of freeze dried dragon balls to see if you’re allergic to them or if your body “wants” them. I was probably just attention seeking when I finally decided to go see the guy. Not many people had been bothering to notice if I was all right or all wrong or even if I was at all lately, so if I have to pay for somebody to tell me that I am still alive (or hopelessly screwed up) every once in awhile I guess it’s worth it.

He hooked me up to this scanner thing that was connected by sensors strapped to my ankles and wrists and around my head, like some Frankensteinish soft-restraint system that would supposedly tell his magic computer what was wrong with me and then feedback “energy” to my different chakras, meridians, neurosis, psychoses, etc. After relatively little conversation that went something along the lines of listing chief complaints like back pain and getting old, the scanner thing ran for the better part of an hour.

Then the doc told me all the things wrong with me. ALL THE THINGS. My first chakra was all bent out of shape and my lung meridian was jacked, as well as my mind-body-soul connection. He rattled off a bunch of broken crap like my connective tissue, hormones, digestive system, and every section of my spine in descending order. Complete disarray. But those were just the major things. He asked me, based on my trauma markers, if I was a rodeo clown or “performance athlete.” I explained, modestly, my complete lack of physical activity for most of my adult life. He skipped over the minor stuff since there was SO MUCH that it was taking a long time and we had to get to the chronic problems. Apparently all of that was acutely problematic. Who knew?

At the top of the Major Chronic Issues list were three words: Betrayal, Inadequacy and Misunderstood. He said he didn’t know what that meant but maybe a past injury or trauma, maybe childhood, young adulthood, that hadn’t healed properly but for some reason decided at this moment, to tell his machine that it was ready to be fixed.

Maybe those three words resonate with everyone. Maybe they come up in everyone’s scan. We’ve all been betrayed before, right? And who really feels adequate? Or understood? Certainly not me. I could feel the defensiveness rising up in me and reminded myself that all of this voo-doo witch doctor stuff is just whatever. The doc said some sort of energy or something was getting fed back to help all that stuff line itself up for healing. Whatever. As if that wasn’t enough, the scanner picked up on some sort of deep religion-spirit-shame connection that seemed to be a chronic issue as well.

I sat there, with all those sensors strapped to me, thinking about all the times that I have seen different counselors in different cities. Different therapists with different techniques and approaches. There was only one that I remember that picked up on that stuff. Maybe she’s one of those spooky ones that can sense bent-out-of-shape chakras and jacked up meridians. It reminded me of how far I have distanced myself from the broken parts of me, operating in survival mode. No wonder my mind-body-spirit connection really isn’t connected. I’ve intentionally shorted that circuit so that I could remain “functional.” There’s a sense of pride that goes along with being perpetually “functional.” Most of my sick leave remains untouched even on days when I know for certain I am tottering on the brink of mental or emotional or physical collapse, or maybe all three simultaneously, just for fun. I spent many of my young adult years in a religious community that was high-centered on naval-gazing purges, continual self-confrontation and reassessment, constant external confrontation and sanction. I think after I left there I intentionally disconnected spirit from body and mind. I had to. To survive. To stay “functional.” To pay the bills, raise the kids, take the classes, get the jobs…

And here we are. I have found ways to soothe the breakdown of wholeness in me as a person, usually in the form of a stiff drink or a shopping spree. So functional. But my body tells the story of missing connections. I had three different doctors comment on how rock hard the muscles along the sides of my neck were. The muscles that are intensely painful to the lightest touch. Sometimes I think I must have a really fat head and those muscles are just exhausted, but deep down I know that I’m pulling against the full velocity of a mind-body-spirit connection that is necessary for the productivity and success I crave.

I left the witch doctor’s office and had myself a little cry and then took inventory of the things I know I am doing wrong and the things that I can change. The things I know I should be doing but I am not. Deep down I know I’ve spent years running from the perfect tension of alignment as a human being. Staying busy and “functional” has been a great excuse to avoid finding my own answers to questions and dealing with myself and the poor choices I make.

I don’t know all of the steps to get back in sync with my whole self, but I can probably figure out one step at a time. The first step is seeing myself. Acknowledging The Things. Betrayal. Inadequacy. Misunderstood. These three ugly realities in my life have held me hostage. Someone I follow on Twitter today said “I dont know who needs to hear this, but all it takes to put your life on the path you want it to be on is to act on one single moment of irrational self confidence.” Me. I needed to hear that. I need a moment of irrational self confidence to look past the inadequacies I see in the mirror - the ones that justified betrayal - the ones that leave me misunderstood - and offer myself up to be known, to be seen. This is the vulnerability that Brene Brown talks about. Getting past the insecurity that years of internal dissonance have caused and find a place of okayness with my imperfection.