Moving on does strike in the same place. Repeatedly, in fact: on the Empire State Building, for example; but it has a lightning conductor, so that is alright.

-How would you like to end?
-With a neat conclusion, boxed to put away and tied with a neat bow.
-OK, then.
Gosh, I like that response. Taking my cynicism and batting it back at me as a challenge. And it is possible.

It really is time to move on. While that Quaker stramash (or stooshie, it is telling that Scots has so many words for a fight) was uniquely ghastly, and while there has always been something to bring my mind back to it- the long grind to my Minute of Disunity, then my appeal, then H’s Disownment, then her appeal heard last week, meeting after meeting anticipated, suffered and relived- it is over. There is nothing more I can do about it, and indeed while I would not be going to a Quaker meeting if I were still in South Wales, I can now talk to those involved with a moderate degree of friendliness, and work with them, and I am supported and contributing in a Quaker meeting which delights me now.

I thought I was safe, with Quakers, if under threat everywhere else, and I was not. I am not safe anywhere- though I am moderately capable, so I can, mostly, look after myself.

-Do you think you overanalyse?
If I cannot trust my feelings, I have to make decisions somehow. question is, how likely is it to happen again? Not, particularly. Strengths, Weaknesses, Opportunities, Threats: I know more of myself, it was a bad situation- a clusterfuck, actually, everything going wrong at once. It really is better to spend time searching out opportunities than threats, but I do not think it is likely to happen again, and if it did I could handle it better.

I was hurt because I would not back down- but I won my appeal, and had I backed down I might be whining now about people walking over me.

Actually I would rather be right than happy: happiness seems merely tantalising.

I have the tools to deal with this. I need to look around now, at the opportunities now. It hurt, a lot. I trusted and I was dumbfounded. It really is unlikely to happen again. That is what matters.

Emotional being? Hello?
-I’m frightened.
It really is alright. It is not going to happen again. The tiniest likelihood of the greatest pain may seem a terrible risk, but the likelihood is so, so tiny-
-Why did it happen, then?
-The really most awful luck.
-They’re not. Really, really, they’re not, and that has to be in part a rational rather than emotional decision.

O God, how can I practise trust?

And- I have always thought it was my good qualities which led me into that confrontation. I could break that down, and analyse that- but just as you can’t please anyone, so different ways of being work with different people.

4 thoughts on “Moving on

    -They’re not, Really, really, they’re not, and that has to be in part a rational rather than emotional decision.”

    You’re right, Clare, but it’s so difficult to trust again after having been hurt. My feelings scream: “Everyone IS like that, and you’re kidding yourself if you think they’re not!” Then I feel ashamed for being too trusting (naive?) and allowing myself to be hurt.

    “O God, how can I practise trust?” Good for you.


    • My, er, theory on that one is to accept the feelings. I somehow got through by suppressing the feelings into a pressure-cooker, and then this tactic stopped working. Patient self-acceptance is the thing.


  2. It might be easier to accept the whole thing by agreeing that humans are frail, they change their minds all the time, and, gee, they make mistakes too. It is part of that whole learning thing….which is a pain. But if we make mistakes, if we fail to understand, then there is no point in trying too hard, to understand. Because mistakes really don’t add up, any way you look at them. You do, you add up, but mistakes coalesce in strange, unfathomable lumps that just sit around jeering. They don’t make sense, so they are best forgotten.

    Make sense? I am glad you see that refreshment in moving on is better than dwelling in puzzled discomfort. Been there too, darling.

    XXX :-))


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