spiders within me

it took me longer than expected to put this into words. one part of me says i shouldn’t have taken a break, but another part believes that the pause actually helped me move forward. my thoughts feel scattered, like marbles spilled from a pouch, rolling in every direction. i have to bend down and pick them up one by one.

every argument, every difficulty i've gone through lately seems to make me realize something. perhaps too harshly. i say "harsh" because i've been doing it to myself. i corner and lash out at myself over the smallest things, without even looking anyone in the eyes, as if i were already facing a jury.

i don't remember when i lost my confidence or if i ever even had it. maybe everything began this way. it’s as if some memories have been erased from my mind. i tried so hard to heal and fix myself. i focused so much on the idea that therapy and teachings would carry me forward that i ended up treating myself as if i were broken, fractured, or defective. relentlessly and without pause.

i scrutinized every move, stepped outside my own body to observe and analyze. i stood in front of a harsh inner jury, presenting each thought, debating each emotion until it was proven and justified. i worked on myself so much, so endlessly, that in the process of proving i could heal on my own, i forbade myself from feeling anything. shame, sadness, anger. especially anger.

i had to be very compassionate, very forgiving, because a “good” person would do that. i avoided arguments. even when i was hurt, i didn’t show it. at some point, my ego convinced me that this too was a form of nobility. that i was “above” it all. but i didn't realize how much it was hurting me. because in the outside world, i was crumbling in front of others.

a friend once told me, “i think arguing in relationships can actually be healthy. it can even bring people closer.” i remember being surprised by that. why? i asked. now i understand it better. when i speak my mind without fear of the other person’s reaction, i feel closer. like a different kind of connection is possible.

most of the time, i feared judgment. before the other person even opened their mouth, i would already have armed myself with a shield. i mentally listed every possible criticism and said it to myself first. but most of the time, the other person didn’t even care.

maybe that’s where this constant fatigue comes from. always needing to survive, to stay alert against invisible threats.

for a while now, i’ve been exploring louise bourgeois’ work more deeply. a woman who’s been a kind of hero to me. realizing the similarities between us, ones i hadn’t noticed before, brought her down from the pedestal and made her human, like me. what i learned from her was not to try and fix or repair fear and pain, but to accept them, set them free, let them feed me. to allow myself to be nourished by them.

even in those large, terrifying spiders, when looked closer, there are eggs. fragile offspring inside.
my hands… my hands remembered the stitches sewn in my own practice. the works made under the names of “acceptance” and “concealment.” the canvases stitched with shiny wires, then pressed into clay.

my hands were reaching for that again. my soul missed it. that’s when creativity had started. when the urge to create from within me found forms even before i could name them. they became visible, tangible, touchable. the juice of strawberries crushed with fists, spilling across the paper. the rich, sweet scent of paint lingering on palms. the dirt and dust filling the space beneath nails. they were calling me back. they knew me before i knew myself and forced themselves out of me.

every swallowed word, every tear kept inside became harder and harder to carry. the voices in my head, the ones believed, the ones made myself believe, kept repeating the same thing: you are not enough. every time. in everything. always.

the accomplishments achieved, the burdens carried. there was never space for reward or recognition. only the demand for more.

maybe the mind is terrified that if one day all those thoughts are seen as untrue, then everything done, everything, might collapse. and that all of it, from the very beginning, already belonged to me. and maybe that is what was feared the most.