Throwing Caution to the Wind

I have spent my life being cautious. Perhaps, I could even go as far as to say that I spent my life being afraid.

In the last two-and-a half-years I have slowly stepped out of my comfort zone, out onto that skinny branch where they say all the best fruit is. I was always too afraid before…you could say I was afraid that the skinny branch would break under my weight…and that would be true…partially. “Weight” meant a lot of things. My physical weight kept me from doing a lot of things I thought would be fun. Horseback riding, rock wall climbing, hiking, swimming, dancing, performing, shopping, taking group fitness classes…the list could go on. The emotional weights that I carried kept me securely on the ground as well, rather than out on the skinny branch. The thoughts that I was not good enough, or that I didn’t deserve to be happy kept me from trying. They kept me from friendships, they kept me from real, honest, deep love. They kept me unhappy.

As I have slowly inched my way up the tree, I have grown stronger. I have begun to venture out onto the skinny branch. I have joined gyms. I have taken group fitness classes. I have worn tank tops in public. I have even attempted to climb an indoor rock wall. (Note: if you own an indoor rock wall in Phoenix, please, for the love of all that is good and holy in the world, invest in some air conditioning. Or don’t be open in the summer. Or just erect the walls outside.) The skinny branch has been good to me. It has supported my physical weight. It has not let me down.

Sadly, I have still not trusted that branch with my emotional needs much. I have ventured out, but quickly scampered back to the nice, strong trunk. (Picture a frightened squirrel. Cute, but hungry.) I have hung onto old friendships that no longer serve me rather than let them go. I have dated the same kind of men I always dated, even though I KNEW I deserved so much more. I have let them continue to walk on me, continue to hurt me and make me feel small. I have even allowed people in my family to continue to treat me as they always have.

Until recently.

First, let me say that therapy is a beautiful thing. If you do it right.

1. Be honest. They can’t help you if you’re still lying.
2. Ask for what you need. If you want to work on something, say so. If you’re looking for another girlfriend to bitch about your life to, say so. It will be cheaper in the long run.
3. Do your research. There are lots of different kinds of therapy. Decide what you want to achieve, and find a therapist who can help you with that. Don’t think that old-school Freudian therapy or talk therapy is all there is. That. Is. A. Lie.
4. Don’t settle. If you don’t have a good relationship with your therapist, they can’t help you. So if you don’t like them, you can’t trust them, or you dread the thought of going…pick someone else. You’re not going to hurt their feelings. And if you do, that’s for them to work out with THEIR therapist.

Moving on. So, therapy has been good for me. I’ve identified and worked through a lot of issues. I have learned a lot about the emotional weights I carried along with the physical ones…and why even after I lost all the excess physical weight, the emotional weight was still there. And I have opened up to the idea that I can make new friends, and let some of the old ones go. That they are already gone. I have opened up to the idea that I don’t have to be afraid to be myself. That if someone, anyone doesn’t like me for who I am, that’s not about me. I have come to accept that everyone won’t like me all the time. And that’s ok. It’s not my job to try to be someone everyone likes. It’s my job to be Risa.

I had one last relationship with my old kind of guy. The kind who I bent over backwards for, but who doesn’t see me. The difference this time? For the first time ever, I saw that his behavior was not acceptable. I stayed longer than I should have…and I gave him more chances than he deserved…but for the first time ever, I saw that the way he was treating me was not ok. And I didn’t allow it to continue.

Then I decided I was going to take a break. I was going to date myself. I was going to treat myself the way I always treat the guys I dated. I was going to care for myself the way I wanted men to care for me. I was going to focus on me and what I needed. This sounds selfish. I don’t think it is. We all have to care for ourselves first. End of story. I never really did, until recently.

Nearly the second I decided to just be me, and not worry about what men wanted, I met someone.

He’s completely different from anyone I’ve ever dated. I’m completely different with him than I’ve ever been with anyone else…because I am myself. I don’t deny who I am. I don’t not say things, I don’t not ask for what I need. I don’t pretend I’m not mad. I don’t hide things…except one.

Part of who I am is my intensity, and my ability to know my own mind very quickly. I have known for some time that I love this man…differently than I have loved before. But I haven’t told him. The fear of telling him, the fear of knocking down this particular wall and being COMPLETELY vulnerable to him is TERRIFYING. But I am ready to venture out onto the very end of this particular branch. The fruit that’s out there looks wonderful, and I for one am not going to be too afraid to go out and grab it. If the branch breaks…there are a million other branches, and I will be ok. But if the branch doesn’t break…all the best things in the world will be mine.

Am I afraid? Certainly.

Am I willing to let caution keep me from happiness any longer?

Certainly not.

Skinny branch, here I come.