“I’ve got the key to my castle in the air, but whether I can unlock the door remains to be seen.”
Jo March, Little Women
-Louisa May Alcott-
Sometimes I think the hardest thing about being human isn’t the trauma itself. It’s the whiplash of existing between two truths. On one hand, I know I’ve survived more than I let myself admit. On the other, I feel like I fade into the wallpaper the second I’m no longer “interesting” in my suffering. Both things are true, and both things feel impossible to say out loud without sounding dramatic.
Yesterday at work, I felt utterly invisible. And it struck me; when I was on death’s doorstep, when I was in a wheelchair learning to walk again, people noticed. Now that I’m upright, breathing, functioning, I feel like I’ve vanished. I blend into the background. And yes, I hear myself even as I write this, I’m erasing part of the story, leaving out that someone did say they missed me just last week. A whole hour of warmth and connection. Why can’t I believe it? Am I worth missing?
Your Words Matter
Therapist tells me to reframe how I speak to myself. Not “I hate who I am,” but “I hate what has happened to me.” That distinction matters, but it’s one I struggle to hold. I soften my story so others can digest it more easily. Maybe so I can digest it more easily. Because if I face the sharpness of my reality head-on, will I survive it?
And then there’s the other voice, the one shaped by a culture of hard work and grit. Push through it. You’ve done it before, why not again? It sounds rational, half-rational maybe. But half-rational isn’t truth. Years of studying mental health, mostly just to understand my own mind, have taught me this: struggles are real, and pretending they’re not doesn’t make them disappear.
And even when I say I’m not okay, it still feels like a mask. Which is ironic, because aren’t masks supposed to hide things? I’ve worn so many I’m not sure who I am without them. Sometimes I talk to the different parts of me like they’re distinct people. It sounds strange, but it helps me cope. And honestly, as long as none of those parts are telling me to self-destruct, I think I’m okay.
There are parts of me that I worry may someday start to speak up, but after years of practice they remain quiet. Sure, there are things I miss. The feel of a cigarette in my hand and the sound the paper makes when the flame catches it. The feel of a drink in my hand. The warmth from a shot of whisky gliding down my throat to spread to my belly. There were past versions of me that would’ve drowned in alcohol to cope… but I’m not her anymore.
“She is too fond of books, and it has turned her brain.”
What I do want is to find the version of me I used to love: the awkward little English major who read 19th century literature and loved poetry, who scribbled quotes and lyrics in endless notebooks, and got lost in trashy Scottish highland romances just as easily as classics. The girl with the oversized hoodie and the oversized feelings. Sensitive, weird, too much. She was exploited and dismissed, hungry for attention and affection in any form she could get it. Mocked for being different. But she also built castles in the air, and she loved words fiercely, and she was gentle.
I miss her.
It leaves me tangled in contradiction: how can I so desperately want attention and also want to be left completely alone?
Spotify Playlist
Solitude – Billie Holiday
- “East of the Sun (West of the Moon)”
- “Blue Moon”
- “You Go to My Head”
- “You Turned the Tables on Me”
- “Easy to Love”
- “These Foolish Things (Remind Me of You)”
- “I Only Have Eyes for You”
- “Solitude”
- “Everything I Have Is Yours”
- “Love for Sale”
- “Moonglow”
- “Tenderly”
Hmm…
I don’t have a ribbon to tie around this one. This isn’t a post with a neat ending or five steps to fix the feeling. It’s just a record, a little piece of me scribbled on a notebook page that says: sometimes this is what it is like to be me.
So maybe that’s the lesson, if there has to be one: confessing the heavy parts doesn’t solve them, but it does soften their weight for a little while. And some days just existing is enough.
Until next time–
Kit
From The Comfort Cabinet: (Because duh, we measure our self worth by how productive we are)
- Highland Cow Anxiety Relief Stuffie – who doesn’t wanna snuggle a tiny cow when they’re sad?
- Support independent bookstores! – Little Women
- Watch PBS Masterpiece Little Women on Amazon Prime and PBS Passport
- Sign up HERE for PBS Passport. Contribute a gift of $5 per month or an annual gift of $60 or more. Your donation will help mpb serve your community through media that educates, inspires, and entertains.
- Yogi Tea Stress Relief & Relaxation Variety Sampler – tea is a wonderful thing
- Victoria’s Secret Modal Pajama Set – my absolute favorite pair of jammies (I have two sets)
