So here’s a thing:: I’ve been thinking a LOT about the word “unleashed.” It popped into my body and mind the other day and it won’t leave. It’s sunk it’s teeth into me and I’m allowing it and all it means swirl around in me as I try to understand its meaning and importance in my life and work, right now.
The idea of needing to be unleashed is pretty huge. If we need to be unleashed, that means something is on a leash in the first place. Tied up, bound, pushed down, tamed. Silenced, domesticated, probably ignored. Not respected, not honored and not allowed in its natural state. Generally speaking by someone else, though often we comply and put our own leashes on.
The thought that I, or you, or anyone, needs to be unleashed makes me ill. This is oppression at it’s height of power. To wear a leash, literally or figuratively, is giving, willingly or not, our sense of self and autonomy away.
I believe Shame has everything to do with this metaphorical and sometimes literal leash.
I believe this leash, while outwardly looks like connection to another, is truly all about disconnection. Disconnection from our experience, our truth, our voice. Disconnection from our self and who we are.
This leash is about obedience. Being docile. Being controlled.
Writing about this symbolic and very real leash is literally making my throat feel tight, as if I am wearing a collar. It is interesting to observe, to notice, how my body reacts to words and ideas and to know that it has taken years of my own work, sometimes with therapists, sometimes coaches, sometimes on my own, to remove layers of my collars and to claw that leash to threads.
Here’s what I know:: It is not easy or glamorous work to become unleashed. What we are tying down and burying and trying to pretend doesn’t exist isn’t pretty. There’s rage in there. And grief. And some more rage. And probably more rage still.
We are trained that rage/anger/fury are bad. That being unleashed equates to being out of control and dangerous.
To this training I say FUCK YOU. I am not a pet. I am not something to be put on display for someone else’s consumption or amusement. I am not here to be controlled by someone else’s rules or choices or expectations.
I am me. Mine. You are you. Yours.
We don’t need to wear these collars and leashes any more.
Let’s tear them off.
( I’m going to be writing more about this word in my weekly love letter. If you’d like to read it, and I would be honored if you do, you can subscribe to it right here: http://gwynnraimondi.com/newsletter )