Powerless.

I recently went to the doctor. I’m not going to get into any nitty gritty here. Well, actually, I might. A little. Less because I have a burning desire to reveal my deeply personal shit with you and more because it helps paint the picture that I want to convey.
I’ve been having, well, issues (I know, laugh away- the irony) and I went to a specialist to have a chat. He was rude, arrogant, dismissive and perhaps worst of all, lacking in compassion. I don’t need warm and fuzzy when it comes to doctors, but I like to get a sense that there’s a warm beating heart in a chest, even if it’s buried beneath layers of metal and wire and medical jargon.

Anyway, without looking at a single piece of paper, this gentleman (and I use that term extremely loosely), proceeded to advise me that I must have a feminine issue that is contributing to the “issues” I’m having. The strongest equivalence I can call upon is the “is it your time of the month” bullshit. I want to be clear that I don’t necessarily take issue with a human identifying a woman’s cycle as impactful and meaningful. It is. Even women who aren’t bleeding are subject to a variety of emotional and physical ramifications as a result of the way our bodies work. That’s cool. In fact, it’s pretty fucking magical. I mean, it feels like shit, but it’s cool that our bodies are these fully encapsulated systems, just churning emotions and cells around, prepping for anything and everything. So yeah, no issue with women and their cycles and the identification of related issues. Where I go off the rails is where the identification feels derogatory and condescending, rather than an acknowledgment of specfuckingtacular nature.
Sure, there are physical manifestations of my sex that might need to be called upon and looked at when it comes to bodily functions and problems with such, but this particular observation was not only ignorant, but felt final. This is what I think based on absolutely nothing and that’s the end of that. Um, no sir. No thank you.

I’m going to do what feels like an about face, but it’s necessary because my medical woes and the douchebag doctor I saw are not actually the subject of this particular post.
A friend of mine is going through a hard time and completely unraveled on me. I did something to hurt him and I’m very profoundly aware of such, but I acknowledged the thing and I apologized and still, nothing. Deaded. Ignored. Ghosted. I’m in the barren wasteland known as the relationship waiting room. Many people sit in this room, uncomfortable and sad, at some point in their lives, and most try and find the exit as quickly as is humanly possible.

I don’t know how much I need to get into the weeds, but I think we know each other well enough at this point that you know (before I say it) that everyone is entitled to process different situations in whatever way works best for them. Just because someone apologizes, it’s not a given that someone is going to accept that apology. There is no assurance that the issue doesn’t kill the relationship altogether. And, that’s where I am at right at this moment. I offered the most sincere and true apology I could and now, I am awaiting the breaking of this unbearable silence. That’s just it though, I’m not sure it’s going to break. This could very well be the end of the road. He may have decided that he’s over it or over me or what I did was unforgivable. Or, he is dealing with a lot of other shit, and he’s going to backburner me until he feels like I’m worth the time and energy.

What do these events have in common? It’s not men. I mean, yes, there are men involved in both of these situations, but they are not really the focus. Actually, I should be a bit more specific here. They are not the focus because of their gender or sex.
I am not going to make you sit around and guess. That feels rude and unnecessary. Ready?

Powerlessness. Both of these situations stripped me of my power entirely. My fate and future interactions rested entirely in the hands of the other individuals involved in these scenarios. Is that because they are big, tough men? Nah, it’s because I ceded my power. I allowed my strength and resolve and opinions to be sucked out of me in moments of weakness.

I was afraid. I was angry. I was sad. I was disappointed. I was regretful. And so, I gave it all up. Treat me as you will. Talk to me the way you want to. Don’t be concerned at all that your two minute visit with me, a scared patient, will result in amped anxiety and terror. Don’t be worried that I might be heart-broken over the thought of a good friendship imploding. Don’t trouble yourself with my feelings at all. You do you.

On some level, that’s actually true. It’s not their responsibility to worry about me or to take my feelings into consideration. That’s my job and I wasn’t doing it very well. The thing is that doing it well doesn’t mean losing my shit. It doesn’t mean yelling or screaming or crying. It means asking myself what I want and what I need and what I did wrong and what I did right. It means asking myself how I want the interaction to go with that person and acknowledging that I cannot change them, but I can absolutely control how I respond.

It means understanding that when things don’t go the way I might want them to, that’s not the end of the world. Not by a long shot. There is still room for movement. There is still space to put intentions and wishes. I can’t change the doctor and how he comes across, but I can speak up for myself in a way that is respectful and strong, and I can decide that I am never going to see him again. I can’t make my friend forgive me or talk to me again, but I can absolutely decide that no matter what I did, I don’t deserve to be spoken to like I’m trash and knowing that I’m a good friend and I’m willing to acknowledge my wrongdoings and apologize (in the most genuine way possible) and change and if that’s not good enough, I’ll be fine. Sad, but really, really fine.

It’s reclaiming my power in situations that make me feel helpless and lost. I cannot control what happens from here, except keeping front of mine that I have the unequivocal right to stay standing, no matter what.

Does that make sense?

Where do you give your power away?

Remember that being powerful doesn’t mean being a bully or angry or mean or dominant. It just means owning your own shit and your own wants and your own needs.

It’s actually really lovely.

Xo
L.