A moment of irritation came up today when I felt I was “being forced” into sharing myself with another, and Jesus, was it painful. I’ve always been an introspective person, keeping my counsel, as it were. Basic operating procedure. I’ve been in plenty of relationships where I was never asked about what was really going on inside myself. Not that I would have told them anything if they did ask. And hardly anyone did, as if everyone in my world was just as self-absorbed as I was… so I was pretty happy about that. I just sat deep inside my mind and watched the wheels go ’round. I thought that was the way to play the game.
But today, relating the “boring” and “uninteresting” part of my day wasn’t something I entered into enthusiastically. I simply had a boring day where I did stuff. My partner wasn’t having that. It didn’t matter what kind of day I thought I had, she wanted to know how I experienced myself through it. In seeing that there was no self-honest way to escape this “trap,” I could only relent and prepare myself to gut it out. Inside I was screaming, “Oh, my fucking God, this is so fucking BOOOOORING! I can’t believe she is making me write everything out…. Ostensibly, I hate writing about boring stuff I do.” But it is really a very deep pattern I have created as a defense mechanism against criticism and blame, SF on the blame and projection there. Revealing myself to others is still a huge point for me, but it’s slowly and definitely getting better.