working on getting unstuck
and taking up space
As I mentioned, in my post earlier this week, I’m very drawn lately to portrayals of women feeling and expressing their intense feelings. And as a result, most of the focus of that post was about emotions.
But I’m thinking about it again now and realizing another aspect of it. I’m not just fascinated by the women in these stories because they’re feeling and expressing their emotions but because they’re doing something about them.
And now that I’m thinking about it, maybe that second part is more where I’m feeling drawn to focus next.
I was reading another book yesterday, and as the main character is having an argument with her boyfriend, she ends up saying something like, “It’s not your fault. I think I just had to get angry to be able to say anything.”
And I was immediately struck by it. Oh yeah, that’s it. That’s what I’ve been circling around on this anger thing.
It’s not just the anger. It’s the willingness to let it inform changes that need to be made. It’s the action that it inspires.
At church, out pastor has been preaching us through Exodus with the question “How discontent do you have to be to realize what must change and be willing to change it?”
The answer for me is pretty dang discontent. Like I might have to have an all-out breakdown to get there.
I will endure a lot to avoid change, to avoid conflict, to avoid any sort of risk at all.
In my husband’s line of work, I occasionally have to encounter a negative comment on social media or a customer service complaint in our shared email. In the context of the internet and the entertainment industry, those negative interactions are actually blessedly rare for us. But they happen.
And my nervous system does not handle it well.
It’s just a comment, just an email. It’s not that big a deal. Yet, I go into fight or flight. Or, more accurately, fawn. (That’s a new stress response I learned about not long ago that has been my go-to as long I can remember.1)
And I have always blamed my stressful overreaction on my people-pleasing personality. And there’s truth to that.
But just recently I realized another element of why the occasional mean comment or unnecessarily strongly worded email sends me over the edge.
I am blown away by the audacity of other people. “Do you know what it would take for me to write a strongly worded email like this?” I said recently, after reading a customer’s angry demands (that I would have voluntarily offered anyway, even if he’d been nice).
I honestly can’t think of anything that would make me feel wronged enough to approach a situation that way.
I go to the post office with packages I’m paying to ship and apologize for having so many. I stand in line for twenty minutes to make a return and apologize to the clerk for being one more person to take up the time she’s being paid to spend. I slam on the brakes at a four-way stop because another car cut ahead of me, and I berate myself because it must be me who misunderstands the rules of right of way. I rush to get to the school pickup line before it reaches the road because the anxiety of being in the way, even though I’m one of many queued up and blocking traffic, is more than I can withstand.
“I don’t understand people who feel entitled to talk to other people this way,” I say, still flustered by the red alert caused by a rude but harmless email.
I’m anxious and a little offended, sure.
But also, I suddenly realize, I’m a little bit jealous. What would it be like to feel so free to speak your mind?
Instead of being terrified of taking up space. Instead of being horrified at the risk of hurting someone’s feelings or getting in the way. Instead of absorbing every discomfort in an attempt to make sure everyone else is comfortable.
And so maybe this is the invitation of the anger that’s lapping at the edges of my awareness.
Take up space.
Ask for what you need.
Set boundaries.
Act.
Like my pastor is challenging us to consider, let the discontent drive you to make the changes you need to make. Stop making excuses. Let your hardened heart be softened. And go.
This article popped up on my Substack feed today, and it’s what got me on this train of thought. I originally came here to write my thoughts about it specifically, but now that I’ve written all the warm-up to that, I’m not sure what I want to say about it.
But it felt related to all of this, felt true, felt like it makes really interesting points. If you’re tracking with me at all, I’d love for you to read Celeste Davis’s post linked below and weigh in on what you think about it.
From the matriarchy of the Barbie movie to the Eras Tour and Female Rage: The Musical, this seems to be a big theme in my thoughts the past year or so.
Just like I’ve been conditioned to avoid being dramatic, I’ve been conditioned to beware anything that would make me selfish or conceited, anything that would make me too pushy, too opinionated, or too outspoken.
And maybe I’m flirting more with heresy every day, or maybe it explains why patriarchal religious institutions are so threatened by sparkly things like Barbies and Taylor Swift:
The more we embrace our womanhood and the more we learn to use our voice, the closer we get to being who God made us to be.
In Celeste Davis’s Substack I linked above, she includes the following reflection on her experience teaching about conflict resolution in marriage:
I didn’t [need] more compromise, I needed to learn how to make more space for myself and my desires. I didn’t need more compassion, I needed permission to set boundaries. I didn’t need more kindness, I needed someone to teach me how to say no without feeling guilty [. . .]
[The women] just didn’t [need the same tools as men]. They needed to be taught to make space for their desires, to not accommodate every time. To pay attention to their own resentment. To treat avoiding resentment as something sacred and holy. They needed permission to make room for their desires even when it meant disappointing their spouse. They needed to be given the tools to be ok in the midst of upsetting another.
It feels counter to so much of what I’ve internalized growing up female and responsible and southern and Christian, but I feel more and more called to get in touch with what I really want, to give myself more permission, to feel what I feel, to speak up, and to make changes.
And I think the honesty and vulnerability that’s requiring from me is a holy thing, drawing me closer to God, preparing me for stronger and closer relationships with others too.
At the time of writing, it’s 11:30 AM, and I didn’t even do school drop-off this morning. I’ve thrown in a couple loads of laundry, talked to my mom for a few minutes, and answered a solitary work email. Besides that, I’ve spent the whole morning reading and thinking and trying to write this post.
It is a struggle for me not to feel guilty about that. What a waste of time. Especially before earning it by getting some real work done.
My house is a mess. I don’t have a plan for dinner tonight.
If I want a comfortable spot in the school pickup line that doesn’t make me feel overwhelmed and in the way, I have less than three hours left of my day to do anything productive.
But I think this is one of the permissions I’m being called to give myself. I think if I don’t, I might explode. And I think the fact that I haven’t for so many years has a lot to do with my history of imploding into being depressed.
I’ve been blaming my discontent on lots of things and acting like I don’t have any control over them.
I’ve been feeling stuck in Egypt or stuck in the wilderness—not sure which—when God’s been offering me liberation and direction the whole time.
Even if they both only come one baby step at a time.
And even if the road to the Promised Land is paved with the discomfort of taking risks and taking up space.