I sometimes find it difficult to write anything for others to read because what I really want to write about is myself, my experiences, and that somehow feels a bit “ick”, self-indulgent, and solipsistic. So I titled this “Ick” to show you, the reader, that I see, I understand, I am with you. But it has to be done.
It is perhaps a mark of “how far I’ve come” (again, ick), that I am able to even admit that, and be okay with it. What I’ve learned is that I’m a few years (read: DECADES) behind in getting to know myself, so everything I’m learning is very exciting and I want everyone to know about it.
In short: I am a teenager.
This delay is a little depressing, but at least I’m not bored. Just ashamed that I’m not a grown-up, or something. 36 is the new 21, right?
Anyway, what I’ve noticed is that, even though I feel so strongly about so many things, I come across as a bit blank to others. This I’ve discovered through my counselling studies (one of my tutors noted: “I have seen this empty persona, Felicity”) and needing to subject myself to constant feedback on how I’m coming across, both in skills practice and in the group generally.
I understand why I keep it all inside and hidden. I understand that it’s protection that no longer serves me. I understand that it’s stifling. I think I’ve come far enough to have done enough work on the origin story.
Now I see that it’s such a great shame because I see others displaying all these feelings and I’m like, “Wow”! It moves me. But that means I’m living vicariously through others who are connected with their feelings and are fully embodied, whereas all I can manage is, “That’s nice”. Ick. Sometimes I feel empty because I can’t even feel the feelings anymore, let alone express them! But I promise, I do feel and I do care. I’m so grateful for all the creators and their books, podcasts and blogs that have been such a comfort and have helped me to connect to myself.
There has been a release to all this pent-up passion over the last few years, in a more constructive way than attaching to someone who possesses those qualities I’ve had to disown in myself, and leeching off them until they disappear (again, very sorry, hope you can take it as a compliment of sorts). Having “done the work” and looked at not only the origins but the various theories on trauma and the impact on the nervous system that help to explain “why I am the way I am” (please stop me now), I can forgive myself for all that and loosen up, which has allowed my “creative energy to flow” (am I even saying these words?!) and I’ve been able to channel those feelings into painting and writing.
And what a relief!
And the more I’ve loosened up, the more I’ve created, and the more I’ve created, the more I’ve come to know myself. This is the safest way to get to know myself, apart from therapy. I can’t fully embody myself – I walk around like a plank most of the time – but I can channel some of those stifled feelings out onto a page or a canvas, and by showing them to others, they come to know me too.
This is the main reason I do it. I want to be known for being me, and I want to be understood, but how to achieve this when I’ve not fully inhabiting myself? I create!
Trite I know, but that is the truth of it. I feel a little sad that it look so long to get to where I am. And because I’m in a good mood (or more accurately, drinking wine) I’ve made it sound so easy. It was not easy, and it’s not over. It never is, is it? Until we die.
More wine time.
