Shutting Out the World

Sometimes I need to forget what's going on outside these four walls and my closed door.
This office protects me.
It keeps me in my private little shell in this world which I've created.
Writers play God.
We write about the things that we care about,
we craft a world to our own liking,
we rewrite endings, beginnings, middles.
And when a conversation doesn't go the way I want it to go
because I didn't write it
and control it,
it's disappointing.
Partially, because real life has its own rules and we can't write or rewrite the scene to our liking.
But also because I'm disappointed in myself
for not having the words,
for not saying the things that are comforting
and make people feel loved and supported.

I had this conversation with my boyfriend last night
on our 35th month anniversary
(yes, it's ridiculously cute that we do that and I love that we do that - his idea)
that went terribly awry.
In that moment, I did not feel like the hero of my own story.
In that moment, I felt like an incredible failure
and I left this morning feeling like a failure.
But guess what?
I still have to come to work.
I still have to be present to my work.

When I was with my ex, we would have fights
and they would dismantle me.
I wouldn't be all right for days.
And it would wreck any productivity I would have.
Maybe I've trained myself,
maybe I've gotten tougher,
maybe I'm more calloused than I used to be.
But that doesn't stop me any more.
It can't.
I have to come to work and do the work.
This script has to be what I envisioned
because my life is not what I envisioned,
that conversation is not what I envisioned.
So to make up for it--
I tell myself--
this thing that I do control has to go as planned.
Otherwise
my world fails to make sense.
What's it all worth?

I have to succeed somewhere.

I don't like fighting with him.
But I do feel like every time we have a disagreement,
a miscommunication or a misunderstanding,
I understand something deeper about myself
because I realize the effect I am having on him.
It does not feel comfortable.
And it's not exactly a silver lining
because a fight is a fight
and they're awful.
But I do realize that my words have impact.
I don't bruise as easily.
And that's not something I wear as a badge of honor.
I don't think I'm tougher or better because of that.
I actually think it makes me closed off in a way.
But that's my experience.
My experience has made callouses grow on
my hands and feet
and on my heart
to protect those areas of myself.
And to help me get through the day.
Like the dancers I love watching,
who have bruises
and callouses on the soles of their feet
that allow them to dance beautifully
without pain.

I feel misunderstood sometimes.
We talked about that last night.
It's a hard place to be.
That's why I write.
I want to communicate.
I want to make clear my intentions
and my feelings.
Because for decades of my life,
I felt completely misheard.
It's awful.

I am grateful for uncomfortable conversations.
I am grateful for the ability to push through.
I am grateful to be with someone so open-hearted.
I am grateful for time to heal.
I am grateful for the doors and the walls.
I am grateful for the refuge.
I am grateful to be able to continue and keep going.