Allowing Myself to Matter

I am back in Montana.

I have been exploring a little, catching up on sleep, working remotely part-time, spending time on my projects, and, of course, seeing my therapist. I always look forward to coming here. The mountains, the cooler air, the openness of the landscape. There is something about being able to look so far into the distance that quiets something in me. Although apparently not everything.

Therapy is hard work. I have been doing this for a long time now. I have made progress. I know I have. I can look back at things I wrote a year ago, or even a few months ago, and recognize changes in how I think about myself and my life. I understand more about what happened to me. I understand more about the ways I learned to survive it. I have tools. I have language. I can recognize patterns that I once could not see. And I am still afraid.

I am afraid to trust myself. I am afraid to validate what I know and what I feel. I am afraid to allow myself to want what I want without immediately questioning whether I should want it. Even writing that feels uncomfortable. I matter.

There. Two words. I matter. I can type them. Saying them is harder. Feeling them is something else entirely. I have spent so much of my life looking outside myself for validation that trusting my own understanding still feels strangely dangerous. I have to be able to validate myself. Was it really that bad? Am I remembering it correctly? Am I being fair? Am I allowed to feel this way? Am I asking for too much? Am I taking up too much space? I know these questions. I also know what I tend to do when they become uncomfortable. I run.

Sometimes literally. New place. New idea. New project. Something else to think about. Sometimes I simply become incredibly busy. There is always something useful I can accomplish instead of sitting with myself. I can work. I can write a grant. I can arrange music. I can research something. I can reorganize a program. I can start planning what comes next.

And all of those things matter to me. That is what makes this complicated. I love my projects. I love my work. I love creating. I love playing my harp. Busyness is not automatically avoidance simply because I have used it that way sometimes. So I am trying to become a detective again. Am I doing this because I love it, or am I running? Am I moving toward something or away from something? I don't always know.

Yesterday I found myself looking at the Montana landscape and thinking about how ridiculous it would be to ask one of these mountains to justify the space it occupies. It is simply there. Massive. Beautiful. Uneven. Scarred in places. Nobody asks whether it has earned the right to exist. I know I am not a mountain. But still. Why is it so difficult to extend even a little of that same permission to myself?

I have written before about learning that I am allowed to take up space. Then I realized something even deeper. I had never really believed I was allowed on the trail at all. Maybe this is the next part. It isn't enough to step onto the trail. I have to believe the person walking it has value.

Not because of Redeem Thyself. Not because of 7 Pedals or High Meadow Projects. Not because I am writing books or grants or arranging music. Not because I am a mother or grandmother or educator or harpist. Not because someone tells me I did something well.

Just because I am here. I matter.

I still don't entirely know what to do with that sentence. Maybe I don't have to know yet. For now, perhaps the work is simply not running away from it.

Is there something you know intellectually about yourself that you are still learning how to believe?

~ julie

If you feel so inclined, please reply with your thoughts.

Note: JM Lane is NOT a mental health professional, nor does she carry a license to practice medicine. Posts, blogs, and content are based on JM Lane’s personal experiences, perceptions, and reflections. By no means does any material convey what others should or should not do.

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