I know this isn’t novel. We are all hiding in some capacity. We probably all feel like we are more of ourselves on the inside than on the outside. (If you feel more yourself on the outside, let me know what that’s like. For real—so curious). I both resent and am thankful for my hiding. Some days I want to be cracked open against my will. And some days I am glad to live in the safe space I have created in myself—a space that no one else gets to be. I am not sure if what is underneath is actually tangled and dark enough to need to be hidden or if it is just a habit that has been reinforced.
Here are the things I am aware of that are behind the hiding:
My body—because what if it steps out of line? What if it lets you know that it is made of flesh—what if you can see my humanness spilling out of my jeans? What if you notice my body and forget to see me? What if it take’s up too much space? Growing up I was taught that my body was a temple—but also that it was a stumbling block for men; that it was beautiful and “knit together” and also that if it had sex before it was married that it would be like a crumpled white rose that was passed through pews of 14 year olds, never the same. I was taught that natural desires were sins of the flesh. So, I hid my body and my humanness as best as I could. I made myself smaller so God could be bigger. I hid my skin away. I didn’t trust my instincts or the way that my body would show up without my control over it. I thought that neglecting myself was holy. I still mostly do.
My wants—Does anyone else get pulses of panic when someone says “come over, if you want”? Or asks “what show should we watch?”.— I can’t tell if I have learned that being low maintenance is praise worthy, if I am trying to shape shift into what the other person wants me to be, or if I feel like I have just been called on in class without the right answer. I care more about you having what you like. It is more comfortable for me to be uncomfortable than for someone else to not be satisfied.
My dreams & desires—because what if I say them out loud and they don’t happen…Some opportunities never come to fruition. So, I only share the good and the dreamy things when they are certain. I don’t want people to feel uncomfortable with my disappointment. It is easier to dream small and expect to be un-successful. It is easier not try big than to give it all and fail.
My joy—I have made a home in melancholy for as long as I can remember—I’m not sure if it is my choice or if it is a part of my wiring. It is more comfortable there-both grey and known. I diminish and stifle my giddiness so that it doesn’t overwhelm anyone, so they don’t expect me to be that way for too long, so that I am not disappointed when the fleeting feeling of “happy” vanishes like it always does.
My darkness—I learned somewhere along the way that the deepest darkest parts of me were too much, too dramatic. The twisty things without quick fixes are hard for people to sit with. I keep them close so they don’t overwhelm anyone, so I can be palatable (with just a dash of cynicism)—so that they can brush it off and not be burdened by it.
My silliness— I remember the silliness I felt when I was a kid. I would sit on it when I went to school in order to become a model student and to float mostly under the radar. But, when I was with my friends, I was weird and was wildly unserious. We danced, dressed up and made music videos, played monster pong (yep, beer pong with an energy drink) with abandon. I don’t remember caring about being perceived within the safe little circle I created. But, the silliness got smaller and smaller as I got older—more and more buried. It only comes out in flashes now. I miss it.
My anxiety and the overthinking—If I let every anxious and repetitive thought see the light of day, they would fill up every room I walked into. I feel like I have to control them because they are wild and unruly. I feel like I have to protect people from their chaos. Or, maybe I just don’t want people to think I’m unstable.
What is left of me after all of the hiding?
Sometimes it is hard to recognize me and sometimes I am proud of how much I hold—how I have developed a path to feel safe in the midst of the chaos that we exist in. My therapist calls the hiding a survival instinct. Which makes it feel more valid and less weak.
I am a shell of who I would be, who I could be. If I let all the hidden things leak out—I would be much more to deal with—more interesting, more reckless, more open, more human, way more messy on the outside—and maybe, most terrifying of all— more disappointing. And, I am not sure how someone who is cracked completely open survives in a world like this.
I don’t have a bow for this. I think like most things, it has to get better in baby steps. I think we will always be hiding a little. It is part of being a human. We save some things for us. But, maybe sometimes, when I am with people who I know I can trust, and I feel the parts of me that want to escape bubbling to the surface—bitter and tingling—I can count to three and let them out. I can give up trying to control how they are perceived, just in that moment. I can take a breath and let go— little bits at a time.
Writing prompt: Make a list of 5 things that are under the hiding?
If you are here reading these, I definitely want to be your friend!—Would you maybe want to travel with me? I posted on Instagram stories about an opportunity with Trova trips. Basically, I work with them to plan a trip that I think you would love. It would be safe, pre-vetted and full of activities like wine tastings, cooking classes, exploring, art and writing workshops, a little soul searching, and more. Would genuinely love to meet some of you all this way.
If the answer is maybe—Will you check let me know your top destination picks?
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