Confession: I'm not perfect

I am so tired of being the good girl. I am so tired of needing to rise above it and find the larger meaning of it. 

I want to be allowed --- I want to just allow myself to feel the fucking feelings. 

I don't want to have to be so perfect and contained. I don't want to be rewarded for how graceful and mature I am in handling things. 

My therapist abused his power—broke a sacred contract and took advantage where he shouldn't have. I was accused by people of needing to be special and of co-creating my abuse by being a seductive woman. And I believed them. Partly because it was true. I needed to be special and I used seduction to be special. In that way I co-created. I was told he is just a wounded soul who just lost his way and we should find compassion for him. That we should pray for him. 

Because of all of this I felt undeserving of holding anyone but myself accountable.

Recently, I spoke to a colleague and asked him what his thoughts were about Me too. He said, "its so hard to be a straight white guy. We get banished. People scapegoat heterosexual men." I am sure there is a truth in that too. But sweet baby Jesus take some fucking responsibility. 

There is rupture and there is repair. I can forgive rupture. But when there is a total lack of effort to repair, to have the willingness and integrity to stand up and say, "I did this. I acknowledge this. I take responsibility for this. I pledge to do my work to understand it- I cannot forgive. I will not forgive. 

I have been called lady justice—told that I have an insufferable need for justice. I have been told that I should stay in my lane and focus on the injustices done by my own hands. True. 

But what do I do with all this anger? What do I do with these feelings of betrayal? What do I do with the rage I feel when people don't take responsibility for hurting me? 

Why don't I let myself—my feelings—my wounded spirit- count? Why do I feel so ashamed and weak for acknowledging, 'ouch, that actually hurt when you did that to me?' I didn't like that. Why can't I find that warrior in me that with the gravest of looks say, "don't you ever do that to me again."

A friend of mine told me once, "you know Aimee, sometimes there is actually a victim." Why won't I let myself be a victim of someone's actions? Why do I fixate on that being a shirking of my responsibility?

I feel so weak and vulnerable admitting how much his actions hurt me. I feel exposed and afraid – waiting for everyone to tell me to get over it or that I co-created it or that we should feel badly for him. 

I am doing my work to understand my part. I am doing my work to see my lower self and what I was up to. I am genuinely trying.

But I've got to let myself feel the feelings. The raw, primal feelings that come from being violated—not just in the rupture--- but more –even more in the lack of repair. 

I am angry that you disappeared and took no responsibility. I am angry that you made yourself the victim. I am angry that you still lie. I am angry that you confused others with your incredible ability to confuse—to seduce. I am angry at you.

Unfortunately I am not my idealized self.---not entirely. I can see the larger truth. I can hold space for it. I can have compassion for myself and for him. I can see that something was playing itself had that had to. In this way, my idealized self—is my true self. But I am not the idealized self that has no feelings—I am not as graceful as people think I am. 

I have rage, I can be hurt, I have been hurt. And it hurts. I still hurt from it. And there is a wish in me that those who have hurt me would say I am sorry--- and not just in words—but in actions I can see and feel. I want to know they get it—and that they really feel remorse. That they didn't mean it. That they want to make up for it. 

This is a secret I don't share with anyone. Until now.