Harshness with self is on high right now, possibly the difficulty faced in winter increasing those challenges. My modus operandi ever since little? My mother chastised me for any little outburst. I’d pout and be unhappy, mad, and very quiet. The hurt and rage goes inward like swords cutting to the core.
In just about every circumstance where others speak right up, I go quiet. Don’t talk– pout, withdraw, and stew. Talking? Airing it? Even now it just doesn’t happen. Like an animal licking their wounds, get close you’ll be bitten. If you hurt me, the punishment is you don’t get to have me.
So much of my life has been spent regretting these behaviors. Regret eats at my soul like piranhas, the blood oozing, comfort non-existent.
How does one forgive themselves for acting in ways that seem so immature afterwards? When going through something emotional, letting the feelings be felt because that is my chosen path to freedom, or so I thought, but in doing so hurt another very dearly loved? (And myself.)