I live in that solitude which is painful in youth, but delicious in the years of maturity.
-Albert Einstein
I've noticed a lot of discussions on and off line in the past few months about introverts and extroverts. A hot topic, especially when one considers this book that clarifies and labels, (albeit gently), a personality type known as highly sensitive. I think many of us have found characteristics of ourselves in this book, and some of us have felt as though bells were sounding; seeing our true selves and how we operate in the world reflected in between the lines.
Noodling around on a new-to-me blog, I came across her post on the subject and when I read this sentence,
Many highly sensitive people think that we are introverts, which may be true, but often we are just the ones that need to ease into a new situation.
Many highly sensitive people think that we are introverts, which may be true, but often we are just the ones that need to ease into a new situation.
I felt my eyes well. This describes me. Completely. And as my eyes pricked with tears, I felt validated and vindicated, because it immediately brought to mind a few conversations I had had last fall when I was questioned about being an introvert. At the time, (and on more than one occasion), I felt ambushed by questions that felt laced with innuendo. I know that I'm an introvert, and yet I couldn't explain how it is that I can put myself out there and still be painfully shy. Uncomfortable in almost every new social situation, I'm the girl that skulks along the wall until I'm comfortable, and then you can't shut me up.
In typical fashion, like a deer in headlights, I cowered and tried, (or maybe I didn't, but I know I felt desperate), to change the subject. All the while beating myself up that I wasn't introverted enough because if I was, than surely I'd have been able to answer those questions in a way that made me feel good about myself.
Months later, I've come to understand that it doesn't matter what I call myself. What matters is that I found a book that helped me feel better about myself, and that I walked away from that book feeling less alone.
I've come to realize that 2011 was a year of understanding. Within the confines of my grief, I learned and accepted much about myself. I know that my dark and twisty is a glutton for punishment, and as such I chose situations and relationships that confirmed my unloveable unworthiness. Bruised and battered, I continued to bruise and batter myself for much of 2011 and really, the chain of events that surrounded these conversations, were actually the tenuous strings I was holding onto finally snipped.
The bullshit was out of the bag and I could literally sink or swim.
Since then, I've learned to love myself, including what I deem unloveable. Sinking into the depths of resignation and then acceptance last fall, once I finally let go, I was able to walk away from , instead of clinging to, my pain.
This path is tender and uncertain and full of a lot of question marks. I'm stronger, more firmly grounded in myself and especially my boundaries, but I've hardly arrived. I think that's the beauty that I'm afforded in all of this change. By really accepting that I have no control over the what if's, I've been able to open my heart and mind to possibility, without me and the whole process feeling, (at all times), like I'm operating out of a black hole.
In typical fashion, like a deer in headlights, I cowered and tried, (or maybe I didn't, but I know I felt desperate), to change the subject. All the while beating myself up that I wasn't introverted enough because if I was, than surely I'd have been able to answer those questions in a way that made me feel good about myself.
Months later, I've come to understand that it doesn't matter what I call myself. What matters is that I found a book that helped me feel better about myself, and that I walked away from that book feeling less alone.
I've come to realize that 2011 was a year of understanding. Within the confines of my grief, I learned and accepted much about myself. I know that my dark and twisty is a glutton for punishment, and as such I chose situations and relationships that confirmed my unloveable unworthiness. Bruised and battered, I continued to bruise and batter myself for much of 2011 and really, the chain of events that surrounded these conversations, were actually the tenuous strings I was holding onto finally snipped.
The bullshit was out of the bag and I could literally sink or swim.
Since then, I've learned to love myself, including what I deem unloveable. Sinking into the depths of resignation and then acceptance last fall, once I finally let go, I was able to walk away from , instead of clinging to, my pain.
This path is tender and uncertain and full of a lot of question marks. I'm stronger, more firmly grounded in myself and especially my boundaries, but I've hardly arrived. I think that's the beauty that I'm afforded in all of this change. By really accepting that I have no control over the what if's, I've been able to open my heart and mind to possibility, without me and the whole process feeling, (at all times), like I'm operating out of a black hole.
No comments:
Post a Comment