It
seems alleviating the pressure of producing something every week has opened up a
door in me I didn’t know existed. I’m sure there will be more. I’ll send them
out as they come.
______________________________________________________
A
couple of weeks ago, I saw a friend’s post on Facebook. A collection of
photographs she’d taken at a party hosted by someone I used to work with, I
noticed several friends, one of whom is a very close one.
The
little girl in me was immediately sad she hadn’t been invited.
But
you don’t even really connect with the person who hosted it, I said
to her. You were never friends with her. In fact, when a post from
her came up in your feed last month, you debated whether or not to unfriend
her.
None
of that had an impact on the child who still felt left out.
I
went on with my life, continuing to rationalize why I shouldn’t feel the way I
did.
This
past week, another former work friend posted some photos from a professional
conference he was attending. They included my old boss with whom things did not
end well.
I
felt a twinge, but I quickly pushed it away reasoning that I had no right to
feel the way I did. After all, I chose to walk away from that job. Why should I
care that they were together and having fun?
Then
I had a messenger conversation with my friend Pete Fernbaugh, founder of the
Ohio
Valley Cloak & Dagger Company, playwright, and incredibly talented
human being, who I met through the same job. He was working hard to navigate the
thoughts and emotions he was experiencing while on vacation, determined to
understand why everything felt like a lot.
We
talked about neurodivergency - the difficulty often experienced in the process
of accepting how your brain is wired, the overwhelm you push through not to rock
the boat or seem ungrateful or abnormal, the exhaustion experienced after you’re
finally in your safe space.
He
knows a lot about my process of suspecting, exploring, researching, resisting
and finally accepting my neurodivergence. The imposter syndrome I went through
because I don’t fit the stereotype of gamer, Rubick’s cube solver or chess
champ. The joy of realizing that I may not be able to do any of those things,
but if you gave me a job like Peter
Jackson filming three separate movies at one time, I’d kill that. In
fact, the very idea of the challenge titillates me. The confusion about how to
explain to family and friends that at almost sixty, I’d discovered something
really important about myself.
Toward
the end of our conversation, I admitted that I am grieving.
Grieving
the millions of times I berated myself for not fitting in. All the things I did
even though I wasn’t comfortable because it was just easier (or so I thought
then). The longing and strong desire I had to “belong” in places where I was
never going to fit no matter how hard I tried. The behaviors I believed were
quirks but were really signs pointing to my neurological wiring - bringing a
lamp into every office I’ve ever had because I despised overhead lighting, my
heightened sense of smell and taste, my need to jump from one thing to another
and then back again.
I’m
still mourning the loss of experiences I will never have because I’ve passed the
point where my body will cooperate. Relationships that won’t ever exist since
the thick collection of masks I were a barrier to healthy intimacy. The success
I never achieved despite all the trying.
In
discussing this with him, it hit me why I felt the way I did about the party
photos and the pictures at the conference. And the sadness came upon me,
ever-present innocuous clouds that suddenly released a steady stream of
rain.
I
wanted to be a part of the inner sanctum in that job in ways I cannot
articulate. I wanted to be accepted, acknowledged, and validated. The drive to
be included caused me to ignore how toxic the environment was for me. Maybe not
for everyone, but certainly for the way my brain is wired.
So,
I pushed through. Did things that didn’t feel right in the name of recognition.
Forced myself to accept assignments for fear of getting a demerit if I didn’t.
Ignored the growl in my belly, the tightness in my throat, the conversation in
my head. All in the name of being accepted and appreciated.
As
I contemplated all of this, the steady rain turned into a thunderstorm and I
found myself doubled over, crying. But it wasn’t only about this job. It was the
amalgamation of all the other times where I pretended to be someone I was not.
To avoid conflict. To feel a part of something. To belong. Somewhere.
Attending
concerts where I was overwhelmed by the sheer number of people and the energy
they projected. Allowing myself to be talked into going to bars and clubs that
made me want to jump out of my skin. Diving in headfirst with an idea because I
believed it would bring me the sense of connection I craved.
I
still feel the sadness. And I am committed to allowing it to exist in me until
it’s ready to go.
This
is what healing looks like.
It’s
been almost five years since I left that job. In this process I have blamed,
judged, justified, explained and defended. I have forgiven, accepted and allowed
the feelings their space until they dissolved. Over and over and over.
This
is what healing looks like.
I
have given myself permission to be exactly where I am without judgment or
consequence. I’ve talked to friends, journaled, screamed, cried and laid in bed
paralyzed from all the feelings.
This
is what healing looks like.
If
you are a seeker. Someone who feels they don’t ever fit in no matter the effort
to make it so. Or a neurodivergent wondering why your life doesn’t look like
that of friends or family, perhaps this last entry from my conversation with
Pete, his response to my realization of what my reaction to those photos was
really about, will resonate with you.
You
and I are part of a unique group of travelers: we are Wayfaring Strangers.
Whether we're actually traveling or not, the seeking we do guarantees we'll
never fully fit in. We're fugitives from the status quo. We've tried to align
with systems, but our spirits can't be confined. We're destined, perhaps
sentenced to always traveling and roaming and much like your trip the other day,
meandering. We're never without purpose, because we're always seeking. Those who
conform--not bashing them--sense this about us. We stand out without trying.
There's a difference to the energy we project. It's not a bad energy. It's a
whimsical, unpredictable energy that threatens safety and security, the two
things all humans desire.
Therefore,
we'll always be wayfarers and always be strangers, and it won't be until after
folks have encountered us that they'll be grateful they did. All of this is
through no effort of our own. We just are that way. Blessing and a
curse.
Until
next time…