Toughly Tender…
I feel love. It cuts me very deeply and leaves me open and raw and feeling bereaved, yet also feeling soft and warm and comforted because that love is beautiful even as it is painful. Additionally, that love causes distress because I fluctuate between feeling tough and feeling tender. I do not allow myself vulnerability, yet I cannot prevent myself from feeling the love that makes me vulnerable.
In this paradox, I exist. I am tough-hearted. Nothing surprises me or causes me to panic. The truth is, I usually don’t feel any emotion besides a generalized sense of amusement. I usually have a slight smile on my face because I see the bizarre nature of the world. I find it humorous that humans are so disconnected from humanity and nature on such a primal level yet nobody seems to notice. When I comment on the things I see, it is with dry wit and a wry candor that makes people uncomfortable because I bring them awareness of that disconnect.
I exist and observe and move through life as quietly and reasonably as possible. Reasonable, to me, is the set of actions that will cause the least amount of suffering for other people in the short-term. I interpret suffering as “change” – the people around me suffer when torn from comfort. So, I try to make them comfortable even when things are changing because they would otherwise suffer. My suffering is irrelevant because I can’t suffer if I am hard-hearted. I only suffer when I allow myself to get lost in my emotions. I am very similar to a [Star Trek] Vulcan in that I don’t see a point in feeling emotion because it causes cloudiness of thought and judgment. And, like a Vulcan, any emotion I experience is very strong and can become uncontrollable.
Sometimes I want to feel tender and loving and soft and safe. I don’t allow myself that luxury, though. I know my place: I am safe for everyone else but nobody is safe for me. I expect ulterior motives and malicious intent from all adults I meet. I trust no one. Detached, I am unreachable.
It is difficult for me to even consider letting my guard down. It is nearly impossible for me to lower my defenses for more than a few seconds at a time before they automatically re-instate themselves. I would like to be warm in a place of love and unconditional acceptance and muted timelessness. That is the only way I’d feel safe. Perhaps I am trying to get back that feeling that I lost when I was pushed into this loud, cold world as a wild-haired babe – three weeks late and warbling like a bird.
I don’t know if I am tough or tender. I think, most likely, I am tough simply because I don’t feel tenderness unless I am taking care of somebody. When I am caring for others – helping and comforting – I feel love and compassion and kindness. I stop frowning, my words are not terse, my demeanor is calm and accepting and understanding. I would like to feel that way all the time, but I don’t know how to get there. I constantly expect barrages of insults and anger from people around me – if I let myself be soft, I will be hurt by those things if they happen. The thing is, they DON’T happen anymore. Not to the degree that requires me to be so stoic, anyway. But I don’t know how to tenderize my hard heart. It’s leathery and dry and unforgiving.
I need to learn to self-tenderize.