To keep the trend going, I’ve yet again been struggling to write a thing and put something out here so I improve my writing score. And, as usual, every time I sat down to write in the past months, the best I could do is a paragraph or two that didn’t make much sense to me. Either the topic was not worthy of discussion, I had no intelligent things to say — or good examples, and I’m not funny enough to spice it up with jokes pulled from my sleeve.
Luckily, I had one of those a-ha! moments today, which one can probably attribute to being in the sun for way too long. At first, I felt drowsy, but then, out of nowhere, it dawned on me. The lack of things to say was because I had forced a boundary I did not dare cross. I wanted to write a string of words entertaining enough that they’re worthy of someone’s attention (since I discovered that more people read my “blog” than I initially thought), seemingly informational so it seems like I have an idea of this thing called *life* to those same people, kinda open so I’m basing it on experience, but without actually revealing anything. That’s what I’d been doing for 20+ years; why was it such a problem now?
I have always considered myself quite emotional and thought that I’m an open book to read since I cannot lie for dear life, and my face is as expressive as Emilia Clarke’s eyebrows. So, it kind of came as a shocker when a few of my closest people laughed at me about my “openness” in a span of a week. Allegedly, most of the time when I talk about a serious topic, my voice gets as flat as the Netherlands, my face puts on a practised, half-smiling, sort-of-chill expression that can mean anything from being raging mad to about to burst into tears, and that I would absolutely kick it at the World Series of Poker. Talk about wrong career choices.
I mulled it over for a while, tried dismissing it since it’s what I do best, but it wouldn’t leave me alone. It was a nagging mosquito that buzzed around my head and kept me up at night— have I got it all wrong? Long story short — yes, yes, I have. I was made, by force, to face the hard truth: I struggle with my own emotions as a fat kid with a melting ice cream cone on a hot day in July. I judge myself for the things I feel as much as necessary, so to have an excuse to dismiss them as irrelevant and bury them somewhere deep in the graveyard of Forbidden Feels. I have no problem sharing my opinion on things, but I seldom say how they make me feel. This realization, now, leaves me feeling like a hypocrite because I’ve always been the one encouraging those around me to be in touch with their emotional side.
Not applicable to me apparently. I would be the solid pillar to lean on, the trustworthy friend to turn to for advice, the patient listener on the other side of the phone call. I would process the emotions of others, so I’m able to understand them better, but never did I think that I’m not actually processing my own. I do wonder what unidentified childhood trauma brought me here, though. 🤔
If you cannot fully wrap your head around it, don’t worry — I cannot either. All I know is that my brain works in mysterious ways. For example, every time I’m faced with what it perceives as a “difficult conversation”, it unilaterally decides that we will not remember anything of what was said or how I reacted. Hey, you cannot re-live your worst moments at 3 AM if you have no idea what you did.
The funny thing is that looking back, it actually makes sense. I like to predict, present, and perfect almost all aspects of life (including love), and things (and people) that I cannot measure, explain or understand scare the living hell out of me. I get paralysed and retreat to the trenches for as long as it’s needed to avoid saying “hi” or having an unplanned confrontation with the enemy called Vulnerability. The very thought of it sickens me — how is one comfortable with having their emotions out in the open when they are the most powerful thing we have no control over? (trust a girl, I’ve tried).
A recent, quite enlightening experience I had made me very aware of the passing of time and the fact that death is a natural part of life we’re all slowly walking towards. I know this escalated quickly but do not worry, it’s nothing morbid– it actually gave me a weird sense of serenity and calmness at the moment that we can truly never know what awaits. Things change rapidly, and we can’t do much about them. Time is limited, but it is in our hands. And having that in mind, combined with my recent discoveries, today I cannot help but wonder — is resistance to vulnerability actually futile?
Are we all wasting our incalculable time here doing unnecessary calculations while trying to be “cool”? At which point did we, as humanity, collectively agree that emotions are a weakness and whoever cares is the loser? And of what exactly? Is there a contest in Not Giving a Fu*k that we are all so determinedly trying to win?
Some people jump both feet in when they realize that the way forward is taking a leap of faith and genuinely exposing emotions.
A. I am obviously not one of those people.
B. To those that are, can you please teach me how? 🥺
I had this discussion with one of my close friends, whom we’ll call Dylan, the other day. We had a #sync moment over the fact that it is the most difficult for us to speak about #feels with people we care about. But while I’m apparently still in the ring with boxing gloves on trying to knock Vulnerability out, he seems to be doing a tad better.
“Reason and emotions are like the left and right hand, you know, they should work together. So putting one aside is like going to a hot dog eating contest with one arm tied behind your back and expecting that you win just because you made the right calculations. You can’t selectively switch things off, so you’re simultaneously shutting out the good and the bad. You cannot connect with a person if you don’t let them in. And you cannot really be with someone unless you’re ready to be vunerably seen.”
When it comes to my own emotional wellbeing, I’ve sort of lived by the mantra “Kick it while it's down?” and inflicted more damage to myself than anyone else can just because that way it is under control — you cannot even begin hurting me if I do it first. Beat you to it, sucker. Anyway, I decided that the perfect time to watch Normal People (strongly recommend btw) was a few days ago amid an emotional turmoil as big and as turbulent as the 4th of July fireworks, but with no graphic evidence of its existence and far less pretty to see.
What struck me most is that I was in awe by what I lacked — the power to stand in front of someone and unguardedly share feelings, insecurities, anxieties without the fear of coming across as needy, clingy, pushy, or any other adjective I usually label my emotions with. To say the things that make you happy and the things that you need. The lack of actions that hurt you and the little things that mean the world. The readiness to fight and the ability to walk away.
Having realized this is only the first step. I’m quite aware I have a looong way to go but try giving me some credit for accepting the fact that the only way out is through okay? Change doesn’t happen overnight, and the process is, to put it mildly, gruelling. But the important thing is putting in the work. Starting small. Having difficult conversations without forgetting them. Expressing yourself freely. Sharing that thing you did when you were 5 that you’re still embarrassed about. Telling, and showing, someone that you care. Putting down the walls so you can connect. And using both arms to hug.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a scary DM to send.
Thanks for reading ✌️
