So, I have this thing. A flaw of my personality. A big one. I don’t care much about anything and I very… very… rarely put all of myself into anything. Jobs, relationships, goals… nothing. I always hold a piece of myself back. Keep it behind my walls. It took me a while to realize this about myself, but now that I have, all I really want is to change it.
When I was younger, nearly every teacher, professor, and boss I had told me I had so much potential, I was drowning in it. I was rarely told I had talent or aptitude. Just potential. Always that word. A person of authority would meet me and get to know me, and then after a while I would get this little speech. This may be a normal thing. I don’t know. But it happened to me often enough I came to expect it. I thought they were saying it because I was smart, or because they thought I had true talent in whatever it was I was doing. But, I fear, I completely missed the point. Nobody is talented in that many areas.
I always did well, but never amazing. I don’t remember studying for exams. I never pulled an all-nighter. I procrastinated working on every project I ever did. I did what they expected of me, but nothing more. It was the same with relationships. I would put in some time, but I rarely reached out to them. I rarely offered any of myself. That’s probably why, at almost forty years old, I have had only three serious relationships and I have very few people that will claim me as a friend.
The authority figures knew I wasn’t giving it my all, as did anyone who I tried to be friends with. I wasn’t trying. They knew I was capable of so much more. I just never put in the effort to find out how much more I was capable of. After years of reflection, I realize they were telling me this to inspire me to act. On anything with intensity, drive, and effort.
Those early non-efforts set the tone of my life. To this day, I struggle to give myself over to things. I have become comfortable and okay with doing enough. Just enough.
This begs the question: Why?
Why don’t I try? What is holding me back? Am I just lazy? Do I really not have any aptitude? Do I not want relationships. None of those track. After a lot of contemplation, and more than a little self-flagellation I think I’ve got it.
I did it to myself. Let me explain.
Like a lot of teenagers, my emotions were incredibly volatile. I didn’t just cry; I bawled. I didn’t just laugh; I got the giggles so incessantly I couldn’t breathe. I didn’t get angry; I flew into violent rages. I wasn’t just shy; I was incredibly self-conscious and sensitive to what others said… or even what I thought they were thinking about me. The positive side was that I was passionate and creative which popped out in my singing and writing, the negative side was I was difficult to deal with and put people off.
Most people grow out of this volatility naturally as their hormones level off. But at fifteen, I wasn’t patient enough to wait for that. Being out of control made me feel weak and like an outsider. I was constantly ashamed of myself. It was painful, and I was desperate. I knew it wasn’t appropriate. I knew it wasn’t ‘normal’, and those thoughts built up a wall of self-loathing that I can’t even begin to describe accurately. I needed a way to protect myself. From the pain of not fitting in. Pain of disappointing others, but mostly pain of the shame I felt when I let others see me like that.
It started with stifling the outward signs when I flew into one of my reactions. Which meant not letting others see how I was really feeling. This was easy with people who didn’t know me very well, which turned out included most of the people I called my friends in high school. I hid behind a smile, or simply removed myself and hid away. I spent hours in the woods near my house, and with my head buried in books, actively not interacting. Later, when that was too difficult to pull off, particularly around my family who knew me very well, I had to convince myself nothing warranted that type of reaction in the first place. It turns out lying to yourself is difficult. Which meant eventually, I stopped putting in effort because I didn’t want to care too much. Into relationships, projects, work. Granted, this is a gross oversimplification and not something I necessarily did consciously. I’m sure a gaggle of therapists and thousands of dollars could more accurately explain what was going on in my head, but this is what I could figure out on my own.
Most people who interact with me now will describe me as levelheaded and serious. I had an interview once for a promotion and my interviewer, who had spent some time observing me, commented that she thought I was actually too calm. That I didn’t have any passion and that my attitude wasn’t conducive to inspiring others. She was probably right. I didn’t care about the job. I didn’t have it in me to act excited about it for the sake of getting others excited about it, too.
In the end, all of my efforts to stifle my reactions to things were in vain. To this day, on the off chance I slip up and find myself caring about something/someone too much, I feel things incredibly deeply. Scary deeply. Something that may be seen like an offhanded comment or a meaningless gesture to some can lift me up or wreck me on the right day. It’s overwhelming and exhausting, perhaps because I am so out of practice. When it happens, I tend to fall back on old habits and try to stifle it or not let the others see. Instead of talking about it, I hide away or turn their attention to something else. It’s too hard to let them see. It’s too hard to trust them with me. Not brave enough, I guess. If my family reads this, they might laugh and tell me I wasn’t successful at suppressing anything. What they don’t realize is, suppressing real emotion manifested in other ways, sneaking out as bitchiness, arrogance, or blaming others for my own shortcomings. Something I whole heartedly apologize for.
In the last few years, I’ve realized that not letting myself care isn’t the answer. Not letting others see me is even worse. It might keep me from being hurt in some ways, but it also keeps so many other things from me. Joy, pride, love… all the good things in life.
I’ve been working on it. It’s slow going, but I feel like I’m making progress. Not stifling my emotions, and letting others know how I’m feeling is coming back slowly. This means ups and downs, of course. Nights of suffocating loneliness, crippling periods of self-doubt, but also heart pumping moments of joy and happiness. All seem to be accompanied by tears… weird. I’ve yet to get to where I am giving my all to things consistently. Not letting myself get too excited about stuff is so ingrained in me it’s proving difficult to overcome.
Writing helps. Putting these thoughts into the world helps, in a nail biting, anxiety inducing way. Reading helps too. I’ve been reading a lot of heavy stuff for the last few years. Letting myself laugh and cry and feel passion… it’s all good.
I had a breakthrough a few weeks ago. I’d recently moved to Tennessee. I was on a trail to Grotto Falls, the first real hike I took in the Smokies. It was a little chilly, a little rainy, and a little muddy. There were green leaves and vines everywhere, even the light looked green. The sound of water and birds was all around. The rain and dirt laden scent filled my nose, encouraging deep breaths one after another of the cool, fresh air. After 1.5 miles uphill, I reached the falls. They were glorious. I was taking a video standing behind them when my emotions overwhelmed me. The beauty, the smell, the sound, and the knowledge that I was finally living in Tennessee after months of planning clobbered me. Joy and relief and the release of frustrations bubbled up in me and spilled over. I didn’t even realize I was crying until my sister pointed it out. She was just as shocked as I was. Of course, my habits kicked in and I immediately stifled my tears, but being open enough for it to happen in the first place was amazing. I held on to that moment of release, and later that night, I let myself experience it all over again in the safety of my bedroom, alone, in the dark, with the door closed.
I’m hoping for more moments like these. Maybe eventually I’ll even let someone ride it out with me. I imagine I will overreact for a while until I get used to all the feeling and let my emotions level out. Which is embarrassing for an almost forty-year-old woman. But that’s okay too. I’m actually looking forward to feeling a little out of control, a little brave, and a little vulnerable. I’m looking forward to throwing myself into things and maybe, for the first time, to discover how far all that potential can take me.
