Boy, oh boy! What a couple of weeks! Yes, I skipped a week. I felt anxious about it for a few days and then realised that it wasn’t conducive to my already fragile wellbeing and decided to let it go. At the end of the day, not writing for a week, is really not THAT serious!
I started last week telling my flatmate that I had no idea what to write about, when in fact, I knew fully well that the only reason I couldn’t write was because there was in fact too much to write about. Too many thoughts, too many feelings. Too many conflicting patterns all going off at once, leaving my internal wellbeing a hot mess of chaos. This was caused by an unexpectedly combination of events in my real life: two great friends’ birthday parties, no sleep, no rest, irregular food intake, and alcohol. I stayed up for more than 40 hours on some kind of energy and adrenaline, I most likely drank too much, even though I never felt overtly drunk, and didn’t eat properly. To add on to all of this, I spent the weekend surrounded by gay men. Usually, this wouldn’t have caused anything in particular, but the slow debilitation of my physical energy, meant that I probably opened up my emotional reserves more than I would have otherwise.
And let us not forget: whoever one is in the world, wherever we come from, whomever we relate to, there is always a high chance of being triggered by one’s identity, one’s place of origin, one’s community. Between being at a party full of gay couples and a party with mostly single gay men, something in the air was carefully pushing all my buttons and triggering all my core traumas, without me even realising that this was taking place. In short, I was confronted with the thing that causes me the most insecurity: relationships. And indeed, this is one of the core principles of The Healing Continuum, and one which I understand in concept, but not in actuality. I mean, I know that we are all wounded in relationship – traumas do not appear from nowhere by themselves – and I understand that most of our healing must actually happen in relationship. Please note my carefully placed distinction between “knowing” and “understanding” in that sentence. I know the wounding, but I only understand the healing. This means that even though I am more than comfortable guiding others through their relationships, when it comes to my own… well, I still don’t know.
And since I also ended up getting ill following that wild weekend, I ended up having a lot of time to think about all sorts of painful things. Too much time, if you ask me! When I drop into my rabbit hole, I really drop into it. It is often days before I’m able to resurface, and re-establish some kind of connection and balance in my life. This particular trip lasted longer than usual, and it took me back to the days when I used to be in a depressive state for months. Something had really been shaken up in my core. The days following this drop into the rabbit hole were marked by several “signs” of what I needed to focus on. Even on Valentine’s Day, of all days, I get this message: “it’s about you, Ryan.” It’s about loving me, taking care of me, being the best me I can possibly be. It’s not about finding those things in others, so I can somehow feel healed, complete, or whole. Again, I understand this, but I’m incapable of knowing this at this point in my life. I’m very comfortable guiding others through their self-love, but my own? I remember Maya Angelou and Oprah often talking about the maxim of “Those who can’t do, teach”. I deeply relate to that. I don’t know many things, but I understand many things.
My self-love, in association with my self-worth, is something that has escaped me ever since I can remember having a sense of self. Many, many, many things have contributed to this. Some major, and deeply traumatic; others subtle, but deeply corrosive. The Rumi quote above came to me on Valentine’s Day via my Facebook feed. It is so simple, and yet profound. That’s Truth, I guess. There is indeed a seed, planted somewhere in my past, and from professional experience I know others have experienced the same, whereby love becomes about someone else. We learn that love is something that someone else brings into our lives, which ultimately leads us to a place of peace, happiness, and salvation. By default, we learn that we are not enough.
The message of self-love has been beaten out of most fairytales we tell our children, and each other. No wonder people roll their eyes at the mention of self-love: it truly is a foreign concept for many of us. In fact, I woke up feeling such exasperation on the day after Valentine’s Day that I decided that I needed to go back to personal therapy, for my sake and that of those around me. I was truly feeling like I had given everything I had to my unhealthy patterns of emotional unavailability, and it was truly time to change.
The day after this decision, I was talking to some colleagues and fellow arts therapists about monumental life changes and decisions, and one of them was telling the story of how, a few years prior, she had reached such a point in her life, that she could no longer figure out anything about the world around her. That she couldn’t even figure out how to change the narrative of her life, only that the narrative had to change, no matter what. This had felt imperative, crucial, almost life or death. As she was telling this story, I felt deep resonance with this idea that the narrative needs to change. The story needs to change. That some things have gotten to such a point, that it is not even about finishing a chapter and starting a new one. The whole, unfinished book needs to go out the freaking window! I don’t need to start a new chapter, I need to start a new book! I felt this need for a change so deeply that I not only knew that my new commitment to personal therapy was indeed vital, but that this new process will also be excruciatingly painful and critical to my own survival.
The main quote on my Facebook page is by Carl Jung and it goes: “Only the paradox comes anywhere near to comprehending the fullness of life.” I feel that there’s probably no greater paradox than that of Change. It’s the only way to move forward in life, and yet, it is one of the scariest experiences anyone can go through. I’m not simply talking about changing jobs or houses – which are in themselves great examples of this paradox – but I’m referring to the type of change which reaches the core of oneself, and after which one can no longer go back. Moments of before and after in one’s life: diagnoses, death of someone we care about deeply, trauma, meeting someone, moving somewhere.
I mean, my move to the USA at 17 years old triggered such a monumental succession of events, that I’m not even able to imagine who I would be if I’d never done that. But I’m talking about change, because, right now, this is what I fear: the unknown of this new Ryan who will emerge from the letting go of all of these unhelpful and toxic patterns of emotional unavailability. I understand that this new Ryan will be a much better and healthier version, but I don’t know that yet. And because I don’t know it yet, it is very scary. Simultaneously, it is also essential. Therein lies the paradox: fear and love, destruction and creation, death and life, are always together.
Ryan Campinho Valadas