And that smallness became my prison.
As I sit here looking to the ocean, I think of how I haven’t travelled as much as I wanted to. Not because of finances or any material constraints, but because I thought I didn’t have it in me to do it.
It’s the same about how I only got my first car in my mid-thirties. It was unfamiliar, so I thought I couldn’t. Or how I thought I couldn’t move away from Ottawa. Or how in relationships my smallness extended to my own self, my worth, and how much I left it to others to do the emotional heavy lifting.
The limits were real, but entirely psychological. The product of complicated formative years, with well-meaning but emotionally stunted parents. They gave me a lot and supported the hobbies that would become my livelihood. But in many ways they made me small; where others grew to learn how to navigate difficult feelings, I learned to self-harm to avoid the threats of violence that came with expressing them before my parents. Where others learned how to share their inner thoughts, I learned that doing so would be used against me. Where others learned to engage in difficult conversations, I learned only avoiding led to safety. Where others learned to explore their body, I was left with only a desire to be hit like my step-dad would. Where others had friends or family to confide in, I had no one. I had no emotionally intimate friendship, my big sister couldn’t stand me and my only grandparent wanted nothing to do with me. Never having had an environment where vulnerability was safe, I feared any jumps into the unknown that would make me so.
I entered adulthood not thinking anything about this, but, entirely controlled by its effects. I was able to take care of my affairs – get a job, get a place, enjoy friendships – but was lacking intimacy. When that closeness was eventually found, I was toxic. I was deeply jealous of their freedom, and punished them for it. I put down a partner that moved to Vancouver, and a friend that travelled the world. I reduced them to these singular things. A friend got a nice car and I only had thoughts of envy. I was bitter and mean. The smallness that was necessary in adolescence became a trap in adulthood that I didn’t even know I was in.
I lost so many good people to my hurtful behaviour. While I’m glad I’ve learned to do better, at 36, a lot of time has gone by. There is no undoing what I’ve done, only moving forward with a freedom I’ve always had but never known, and a regret for those I’ve hurt. I am not burdened by this regret as they’ve moved on, and so should I, as we all deserve happiness. It’s not a neatly packaged ending. So be it.
Where once I felt I couldn’t, now I can.
