Hello Invisible Audience,
I realized something important a couple weeks ago. There’s a very specific way to untie me from a knot I tend to tie myself in a lot. It’s pretty straightforward, now that I know what it is. Getting to this point, though? Getting here has taken decades.
Recently, I had a really rough day. Things did not go well for me. I went deep into a shame spiral because I felt like I’d really botched a parent/teacher conference where I was interpreting for a family that doesn’t speak English. I felt humiliated and awful, so—using the tools I have learned over years of work—I admitted how awful I felt to a group of people that I thought would understand and be able to empathize.
I got radio silence instead.
Radio silence, for a whole 14 hours. From a Friday afternoon to a Saturday morning. From a group of people who are scattered all over the world, in at least four different time zones from mine.
My point here, Invisible Audience, was that it was not actually that long of a silence, and it was an understandable silence, given all the factors at play. But that was not how it felt in my body.
In my body, a voice rose to the surface, just as it has
countless times before in similar situations.
“See?” It whispered. “You’re alone.”
I recently read a meme on social media that pointed out that hyperindependence is the result of neglect—of never feeling like you can depend on anyone, so you decide you can only depend on yourself. After what has felt like a lifetime of untangling the ball of yarn inside me and taking responsibility for every last fucking piece of anything that is mine to handle and fix and change, regardless of how I learned it, I have moved into a new stage. I have moved from accepting my autonomy to seeking to improve relationships with others around me. Trying to be authentic; trying to allow myself to be as messy and chaotic as I feel in front of other people. Letting people in, both figuratively and literally, despite the mess I live in.
So, going back to my story, when I didn’t get the reply I wanted in the timeline I was hoping for? It felt devastating. Like the Universe was gleefully whacking me across the face with a baseball bat while I tried to run like hell to the next base.
This is when I discovered it, Invisible Audience. The answer. The code. The password.
There is one thing I need to hear in these situations. It does not involve someone fixing the thing for me, whatever the thing is. Although in fairness, for a really long time I thought I was looking for someone to fix it for me—I thought that someone could fix it for me, if I just found the right person. It does not involve someone distracting me away from the thing. It does not involve binge eating or binge watching or binge exercising or binge reading. No binging necessary. Can you guess the one thing I need to hear?
You are not alone.
I don’t even need someone to tell me that I probably did a better job than I thought I did. I need someone to tell me that, even if I did the most horrendous job possible, I am not alone. That this person—whoever I have chosen to seek out in this moment—is willing to stand next to me, even as I tear myself apart due to the ways I was not perfect. Even as I am grappling with whether I am still loveable as I stand there, utterly defeated. Even as I fight tooth and nail against the old, old story in my head that tells me that I am worth nothing if I cannot do things perfectly. Every. Single. Time.
This realization led to a bunch of others.
Why I feel absolutely bereft if I share something big with someone and they say absolutely nothing at all, change the topic or even tell me, “you got this!”
Why I keep friends’ shittyversaries in my calendar and send cards or at least text messages on days that parents died and miscarriages happened, so they know they aren’t alone on those days, even if they feel like they are.
Why I cry every fucking time someone says, “I am here with you.” Because I cannot actually believe it unless you say it, Invisible Audience. It is not about being just physically present, because there are a thousand and one ways to be checked out while standing next to someone. I need to hear it said, or see it written to believe it.
It is why I write to you. Because maybe something I say could possibly make you feel less alone.
Even if we’re not in the same room. Even if you can’t hear me when I say it out loud to you.
You are not alone.
Love and together kisses,
Morgan
