(crossposted from Facebook, very lightly edited)
This is what being unclogged is like for me, compared to being clogged up, in no particular order:
- I can feel my chest and my stomach, and they’re relaxed. There’s less tension in my body overall.
- My speaking voice resonates in my chest more. My singing voice is richer and sweeter.
- I can do pull-ups.
- I really want to talk to people and invite them to things.
- It’s easier for me to be turned on and have sexual fantasies. My orgasms are more pleasurable, last longer, and have a more pleasant afterglow.
- I feel much less tempted to aimlessly browse the internet, play video games, or watch TV.
- Difficulties in my life are easier to think about. I flinch away from them less and have more productive and creative thoughts about what to do about them.
- I tear up much more easily. Love feels more accessible, both giving and receiving.
- I laugh more easily and more loudly. I make funnier jokes.
- Dancing feels more natural.
- My bodily needs – hunger, thirst, lack of exercise – are easier to notice and take care of. I feel more in my body generally.
- My values – what I care about and stand up for in the world – are easier to access and act from.
- I can write poetry.
I spent most of 2018 unclogged, and it was life-changing, but then I got clogged up again in September. Could you tell? That’s when I stopped writing these statuses. That’s when I stopped writing poetry.
The big warning sign was towards the end of November, when I noticed that I had stopped caring about anything. That meant I had gone numb to avoid feeling everything that was clogging me up. So I sat down to feel everything, and –
Pain. Fear. Grief. Shame. More pain. But it was stuck. I couldn’t move it. It just stayed there, hurting.
I noticed I hadn’t seen most of my friends in awhile. It felt scary to reach out. I reached out. I spent time with them. It helped. But there was still this ocean of emotion I couldn’t move.
Then I went to Austin for this training, and a lot of things happened. I screamed, loudly. I cried, loudly. I was held beautifully, in my screaming and crying, by everyone else there. (Thank you all for that.) Then we danced. And we sang. And we loved each other.
Halfway through a poem that had been half-formed in me finally finished coming out, and I felt comfortable posting it; that was a good sign. The ocean was finally moving.
And now I’m back. Hi, everyone. I missed you. More to come.