unfurling-softly

[unfurling-softly]

The Unlatching

For years, I was taught to not overshare. My mother was always paranoid that oversharing with others would cause “issues,” - a broad, all-encompassing term meaning a variety of worries - and relayed as much to me from a young age. Her past had led her to (justifiably) mistrust people in general and, without intending it, her issues with trusting and being open rubbed off on me. This left me with deep anxiety surrounding sharing just about anything, worried I had said too much and fearing the repercussions I was sure would come; deeply afraid of what people would think or share with others about what I had said in confidence. It didn’t help that, at different points in my life, it happened that, as I opened up and became close to people, my trust would be betrayed and rumors about me would be spread. I am all too familiar with the feeling of people whispering about me or watching me as I walked past, head bowed and feeling like I would rather disappear than face those gossiping about me.

This shaped my development; my close friendships were few and selective, my feelings towards things were often kept internalized, and I frequently felt literal, days long anxiety and often physical discomfort (which I only realized years later were, in fact, actual panic attacks) whenever I shared anything with anyone. It was hard feeling like I couldn’t quite trust anyone and that I, in turn, had to manage all of my thoughts, emotions, and problems on my own.

My solution to this became writing, in any form; short stories, poetry, music, scripts, diaries, and even partially written novels that never reached fruition. It was a way to share what was going on internally without the worry someone would create “issues” in my personal life. In this way, I could write things to let them out yet keep them still hidden and to myself; or rather I could share my creative writing but keep my work separate from what was going on with me personally when presenting it. When looking back, I distinctly remember myself referring to pen and paper as a friend; talking about how writing was wonderful because notebooks don’t judge you. As a now adult, I have to chuckle at my younger self, but I also feel strange knowing that even as a kid I was so afraid to be open that I felt more comfortable calling paper a friend then people. People were often “acquaintances” rather than “friends,” but paper was dear to me. Even now, I have a deep seated adoration for pretty journals and pens that probably isn’t the best for my wallet.

But as I got older, I realized that, while writing was still a wonderful outlet, it wasn’t enough. I moved and left behind what friends and safety nets I had formed over the years; left with a blank new start and no idea how to even begin. I found socializing with new people to be a terrifying task. It took months before I even worked up the courage to talk to anyone. It was very lonely. But I was so afraid that if I shared about myself, no one would like me, or worse that we would become close only to have them turn around and leave me alone and hurt again. My fear of oversharing lead to me being afraid to share at all and, in turn, left me feeling isolated but also afraid to come out of that isolation. Somehow, this new blank slate felt scarier than living with all the assumptions people already had about me.

But slowly it dawned on me. If no one knew who I was, then I got to decide who that would be; who I would present myself as and become. I could choose to share what I wanted with who I wanted and it was all my choice. While terrifying, that realization was also freeing. And slowly, over time, I had small opportunities to share little bits about myself and chose to take the panic inducing rout and be a slightly more open rather than give generic answers. I still felt the sheer, heart pounding fear every time, but little by little, I came to a place where I could share without immediately wanting to take back everything I had just said (at least most of the time.)

As time went on, I became closer with people than I often had in the past. This didn’t always lead to happy endings and I would sometimes find myself crawling back inside my shell and being more closed off and reserved. There were just so many walls I had built up over so many years of time; so much emotional scar tissue from all the times I had been hurt. But still, each time, I tried to push myself back out of that mentality and regrow into the confidence I needed to be venerable.

I have not, by any means, become completely open. I am still fairly selective about what I share and with whom. But as I’ve grown and matured, I’ve come to realize that I hurt myself more by being closed off, and that if me being myself makes people dislike me, then those are not the people I want to be surrounded by. It is a struggle to be fully myself all the time. Fear still creeps up and sometimes eats away at me like when I was younger. I can find myself extremely anxious about whether some things I say will come back and bite me; whether those I now consider friends truly like me or what they say or think about me when I’m not around. It even presents itself in my relationship at times, making it hard to be open about my feelings right in the moment despite my absolute trust and desire to be completely venerable (which my, thankfully, tremendously gracious boyfriend is very understanding of). In fact, through my relationship with this wonderful man, we have slowly grown together, and he has patiently helped me to learn more about myself. Our many conversations have brought about greater understanding and have opened my eyes to some things I didn’t know I did, allowing me to be more honest with myself about these things.

I myself hadn’t realized just how much I still had trouble sharing as I was still far more open than in the past. But I found that I often shared thing retrospectively, taking long times to process and formulate my thoughts rather than open up about how I felt as I felt it; afraid my initial reaction would be the wrong one, even if it was what I was feeling at the time. I had trouble verbalizing my feelings sometimes for fear of what others would do knowing I felt that way. I realized that I sometimes pushed my true feelings away from even myself. How it was more than just a fear of what others thought of me, but also what I thought of me. It showed me how deeply these worries actually ran. I realized that I had been afraid of all these unspoken, unnamed “issues” presenting themselves so much for so long that I had created a different set of issues for myself. Little things I hadn’t seen as connected before began to click.

Like how around middle school, a bunch of things happening in my life brought some underlying problems - ones I didn’t really know I had at the time - to a head and I developed deep anxiety and depression. But for years, I was afraid to share this fact for a variety of reasons, one of which was simply the fear of what unknown consequences sharing would bring; more gossip, family drama, or worse, maybe everyone would just think I was making it up. So, I learned to try and manage it on my own. But it built up a gross amount of underlying issues that only grew worse by not sharing what I was going through; problems that now see are interconnected and I am left to try and undo, like this big tangle of mental health problems all knotted together. And I’ve come to accept that part of that process of undoing - or rather moving forward - has become learning to be even more open and candid with myself and with others; truly venerable, rather than my exclusive, selective, formulaic sharing of the past.

Which brings me to where I am now, sitting at this computer and typing the words you are hopefully still reading. This whole long winded story is all just an introduction as to why this little part of the internet now exists.

You see, I have a blog already. A stupid one I made years ago to post random little pictures on and share my obsession over boy-band members and strange quotes. But I allowed people I once knew on there and so never could quite feel comfortable being completely candid. And I’ve tried writing in diaries buy I often stress over missing days and find that I wish my feelings could be shared in a more open format… but not with the people that truly know me. (Those thoughts must still be somewhat filtered to keep life in order.) So, I thought, why not here? A blog where no one knows me to judge me but where some may find comfort or comradery in knowing someone else relates to how they feel. I want this to be a forum for sharing life without fearing that life will suddenly swallow me whole for thinking a certain way. A place to be completely candid when talking about stupid things or serious ones. Somewhere to feel safe and be honest about fears and fuckups and unrealistic wants and dreams. An open letter of sorts.

And while this will allow me to share openly, it will also provide a source for truthful conversation, a no judgment zone.

A safe place.

A place to grow.

To become.

Like a flower, trying it’s hardest to blossom, I will still work tirelessly to open up; to unfurl, slowly; to become completely accepting of myself and not allow fear to dictate that desire.

And I’d love for you to join me on that journey. I don’t know what I’m going to post here or exactly what I’m doing, but I know that I want this place to exist.

So, if you’ve made it through all of that, thank you for reading. I hope you’ll stay.

Either way, I wish you the best. Keep growing and becoming. Be thankful for the you of yesterday, because it helped you be who you are today, and grateful for who you are right now because it is helping you grow into who you want to be tomorrow, and all the tomorrows after that. Never forget that, okay?

I hope you have a beautiful day.

~B