I really identify with the archetype of “writer”. A lot of my disposition I credit to my DNA transcribing writer into my soul. I see choreography in the breezy sway of trees, I feel the tremor of the earth as the sun sets behind the gulf, and I make meaning. Not only do I make meaning, I love my meaning maker [brain] and love to make meaning. I think part of this archetype, for me, is wanting to feel deeply known. In some ways, I fall victim to the juicy sensation of uniqueness and sometimes, when I’m less self-aware, I settle into my strong identification with the “self” others see (or “ego”). Then, because of that, I make my way towards wanting others to know these things about me. Furthermore, I want them to feel the world like I do…so they can know me. How human of me!
I kept a journal throughout high school in a long Word document and I had a quote on the first page pulled from my favorite book series in high school: “The tales we tell ourselves about ourselves make us who we are.” In my adulthood, I look back on this with therapy-infused wisdom but high school Stac felt that if I could just reflect enough, process enough, create prose about my life, I would understand myself. And maybe others would, too.
As time went on, I projected this desire to be known into friendships and partnerships—desiring to be known deeply was top priority for my young heart and her suitors. Normal happenings would create a chasm between my awareness of my knowing of myself and my perception of other’s knowing of me. I would peer into the depths of this and feel my breath leave my body as I was filled with chilling fear. Teetering on the edge, I would resource the main coping mechanism of my youth: logic and reason. I’d intellectualize my feelings, ration reason, and think to numb.
As time passed, I wrote haiku’s through heartbreak and essays to calm the deepest parts of me desperate to vigorously shake the earth to close the chasm. Over time, I became surprised when the ways I actually began to feel seen by others was not the ways I expected and that it often didn’t feel…great? A partner asking the poignant question in the opportune moment would make me feel seen in a way that felt surprisingly scary. I wanted all my goodness to be seen. I was less willing to admit that being deeply known had to include bringing to light my parts that felt shame, regret, fear, restlessness, and despair.
The truth was, I wasn’t really comfortable with those parts yet. I didn’t have the structure of self-led support, or enough understanding of them, to deal with them. In truth, I spent years enthusiastically dedicating myself to avoiding them! At times, though, they commanded my attention by taking over my nervous system. Now, I call them “head hurricanes”; the times when I was completely swept up, my mind racing completely out of my control. Back then, these were not safe for me and they were certainly not safe to share with anyone else! The universality of these hurricanes is their fuel is fear. Fear of something…the fear of not being known fully, the fear I’ve made the wrong decision, or any other thing I valued a lot that also worried about. The dizzying part of this was the realization that to be known fully I’d actually have to admit to head hurricanes to those seeking to know me. Who wants to do that?! I could not fathom facing the possibility of relationship casualties from my natural disasters.
Seemingly, with time, wisdom, strong relationships, and therapy (!) – these hurricanes still come but are fewer. I am now able to name when I am swept up in a storm, though I still struggle to give voice to the thoughts like tornados in my mind. That’ll come.
Sarah Blondin reminded me this morning that we only, and always, have ourselves in this lifetime. Oof, I have some parts that hate this, and maybe will always hate this? But now, I have encountered other parts of me that are so comforted by the truth that no one needs to know me deeply except for me. Others are certainly welcomed in to know me, but, it is not the barometer of the quality of our relationship. It is not the end-all-be-all. It is no longer terrifying for me to be in relation with someone who just doesn’t quite get it, maybe doesn’t quite get how or why that thing just lights up my heart and floats me into the atmosphere…or why I write about it. Because I get it. I know it. And I honor it. And I respect it. And I work to allow for these truths to be with me all the time. Sarah Blondin also always reminds me to tell myself “I love you and I am listening” and I like to add “Everything you are is always safe with me.”
No one will ever know the depths of me as I do. & it’s the warmest welcome home to myself when I see the part of me strangled by fear simply untie the rope, set it down, and walk towards her freedom.