Holding Back, Pushing Away

I build walls. No matter what I say when I talk about myself to others, when I try to paint myself in a favorable light, the truth is that I build walls around myself to protect any and all emotions. Not to be melodramatic about it, but I learned early in life (learned hard and often) that those I trusted were sure to devastate me. I learned that to show any emotion that was too close to my heart was a sign of weakness that would eventually be used against me. With rare exception, this has been a solid truth in my life. Maybe it's not so much that to trust is to be devastated, but rather, that to show that trust, to make obvious my vulnerability, is to guarantee that I will be shattered. As a child, I pitied myself for it and would dream of a different life: different parents, siblings and relatives, and later, different boyfriends. I relied so much on my books and my imagination because they were, emotionally speaking, the safest places I knew. When adolescence hit, I turned to writing (or the words just began to spill out) as my self-pity turned to anger. As an adult, I have simply accepted this as the way that I am: paranoid that private moments of trust will turn to public betrayals and that those who know my secrets will spill them for sport; but understanding, too, that I must rise above those fears and persist in trusting and not having to be on guard all the time - and trying, really trying. I am, generally speaking, on guard, tightly wound and always needing to be strong and in control to hide the fact that inside, I am a sensitive, vulnerable, sappy mess. It is this thing about my life and the way it's played out, this thing about me that has played such a central role in making me what I am today that figured prominently in my decision to choose a man as the man I'll spend my life with. Because no matter how hard it is for me to show my vulnerability, I know that with him I can and will not be shattered for it. That's not to say that it'll be easy for me or that it wont cause problems between us; just that he will be like no one else and be worth my efforts to trust and be vulnerable. When I found out I was pregnant, one of my earliest questions was will I build a wall to block this baby out? Will I put my automatic guard up and shut her out before she can even get in? Because I knew that in becoming a mother, I would know the greatest devastation of all. But as my belly grew and my unknown child became my sole reason for being, I knew without doubt that there would be no walls. For once I would welcome another into my life and into my heart openly and completely. Not knowing how to do such a thing, I trusted (as I did so, so many things those life-altering 40 weeks) that it would all just be o.k. That it would come to me and I would recognize it and not shut it out. Marley was born, and although it took me a bit for it to hit me, I felt it: I did not want to shut her out. I didn't. I didn't want to protect myself; I didn't want any more walls. So I took what was for me a giant leap into an abyss of vulnerability and "weakness". And it's been so easy. She is so easy to let in. It's forever changed me, and I'd like to think it's made me a better, freer person. Which is why I feel so worried and so close to that all-to-familiar devastated to find myself, in specific moments here and there, pushing my daughter away. That wall of mine, it's like with Marley it now exists where before it didn't; and while it may not be made of brick like it is with others, it's made of some retractable material that can zip up and down depending on the situation and how much I need to protect myself. I am undoubtedly doing it. Something happens, and it's like I can physically feel my heart squeezing; I shut down and find myself wondering how to act and be so that I don't feel so hurt or rejected or misunderstood. It is the same as it ever was. Except that this is my daughter, and I can't do this. I can't let this happen. I can't give in to my darker, negative tendencies. I don't know why this is happening or how to stop. It happens when I feel like Marley is manipulating me, and I instantly feel guilty because I just don't know how true it is that a three-year-old can be manipulative; yet I feel manipulated. Or it happens when she displays her temper and is hurtful, and I know without doubt that a three-year-old can indeed be hurtful, even though it is not with the malice and intent an adult employs. It makes no sense to me, why this is happening so early on, or with a baby. My baby. I don't think I ever expected that I would be able to not hold back forever, but I figured that by the time she was less a pure innocent and more a fallible human just like us all, I'd be used to it and could keep it up without much struggle. Is it that my level of impatience and the way I easily become frustrated are too overwhelming and require more than mindful efforts and therapy? I don't know. Right now I just feel so very aware of all this and so troubled by it.