Actions Speak Louder Than Words, So I’ll Hold My Tongue

It’s harder than it looks

I am unlearning maladaptive behaviors and it is…hard. Hard because I don’t have a “me” to go back to. There is no “old self” I want to feel like again: I want to change but I don’t know exactly what I want to happen.

I want to explain everything. I want to tell him all the reasons why, from a to z and everything in between, but I am learning to tame my tongue, and, truth be told, I have never confronted a task so daunting. Lord have mercy. I like to be right and I’m so accustomed to it that I claim victory before I even cross the finish line, “I told you so” on the tip of my tongue, just seconds from being released into the open air.

It’s hard being wrong, even when it’s a good thing. What do you do when everything you’ve been preparing yourself for never comes to pass? Fights that I geared up for and stories I’ve pieced together based on old patterns that don’t even really make sense. But Newton’s laws apply to me too, I suppose, even when I don’t think so. Especially when I don’t think so.

See, my words pack a punch but they lack weight when I’m wrong, it’s like shooting somebody with a ping-pong ball and shoot. All that really happened is I look dumb. I sure look dumb. I act like I know it all and I am book-smart, but there’s something about assuming bad intentions from the start that isn’t always fair. I’m multifaceted but I’m learning that he has many layers and just about none of them fit the one-size-fits-all narrative that fits the other men that I’ve known. I don’t have a choice but to grow.

I want to talk crazy but I don’t have a need to: to block his phone, but he doesn’t deserve this kind of treatment. I went off about the other woman just the other day and wouldn’t stop talking until I ran out of things to say: I guess I’ve gotten so used to living in the shadows that I was ready for battle.

A battle that I didn’t have to fight, guess that I’m not always right, maybe I don’t have to hide anymore. But there’s a whole skillset driven by fear and regret that I worked so hard to build when it was rough behind closed doors. What do I do now? Start from scratch? Pour the foundation? What if I retire my battle gear, only to find that somebody was about to attack me from behind?

But I need to let go and have fewer reservations, to watch my mouth and speak with more hesitation than is typical of me. To actually breathe. To accept that I’m enough when I’m just unadulterated me. I’m learning. It’s tough. I’m yearning for something that is just beyond my reach, give me patience. Let my appetite for words, for once, be satiated.

I just want to let the words fly right now, I want to speak everything that’s on my mind right now, but the wise mind says that’s not a rational idea. That I’d regret putting the cards out on the table immediately, that actions speak louder than words: just let them. That I should save my breath and learn to accept that I don’t have to justify all of me all at once. That I can take it slow even though I’m always in a rush, always rushing to an undetermined finish line, I can’t seem to relax because I’m terrified of wasting time. But truth be told, I’m changing: I know because when he’s on the line, I can handle silence and I’m not terrified. That’s progress for the girl who speaks like a leaky faucet, scared of what will happen if the space is not filled with spoken thoughts. Maybe I’m changing.

Maybe.