Facing Uncomfortable Truths

The distance between who we are and who we think we are.

I’m still getting to know myself.

Over the past several years, I’ve been able to sink into thoughts that had been, hitherto fore, merely floating on the surface of my mind. When my sons left home in 2014, things got quiet and I finally had time to think.

I’m not blaming my sons for my inability to deeply self-reflect until 2014, but the realities of life are what they are. Self-exploration takes time, solitude and a serious lack of interruption. The waters need to settle before you can see the mud at the bottom of the pond.

As a single parent, my life simply didn’t leave space for those moments.

I started journaling long before 2014 and began to create artwork about my life, translating my emotions into symbolism and metaphor. I left a lot of those pieces unfinished; other pieces I cathartically destroyed, probably out of guilt.

Mothers aren’t supposed to feel this way.

As you might infer, my experience of motherhood was not wholly positive. It’s only recently that I’ve begun to unpack that and it’s not an easy admission.

Looking Back

I was unmarried for 13 adult years. If my life wasn’t moving forward, it was impossible to point the finger at anyone else. If anyone was going to change a lightbulb, schedule an appointment or proactively make anything happen, it had to be me. Also, if anything went completely sideways, guess what? Me again.

Being alone made me the undeniable common denominator of every situation. Sometimes it was just too damn much.

The truth is we are all the common denominator of our own stories, but having other people in our lives lets us more easily evade that fact.

We are both the hero and villain of our own lives.

That’s a heavy realization, but it’s also a good thing.

If everything negative that happened in our lives actually was someone else’s doing, we’d be powerless to change it.

If we are the problem, we can also become the solution.

It’s an empowering concept if you embrace it… and I was trying.

Enter, John.

John came along after my sons had moved out. I was at peak emotional fitness - or so I thought. There in my quiet, tiny apartment where I had the luxury of living alone, I was meditating every morning. I was devouring self-help books and actually doing the workbook exercises!

I was in a good place. I was completely at peace with the universe.

Never mind that I was avoiding everyone…

My tiny backyard sanctuary 2014.

My isolation bubble was made of tough stuff and it ensured I was in control of everything in my little world.

Except, eventually, I had to go out.

I couldn’t avoid people at work, so I had migraines. I couldn’t avoid the long-running issues with my parents, so I just didn’t talk to them about anything real. And I couldn’t avoid the underlying hostility of my sons, so we didn’t talk much either. I also didn’t have many friends… in all honestly I didn’t have any real friends.

But I was at peace… Conditional peace.

As long as conditions were just right, I felt fine.

Kind of like an Orchid.

So, when John came along, my inner peace struggled. He brought baggage and habits and opinions and all the messy stuff that comes with being human into my pristine sanctuary. He popped by bubble.

At times I questioned whether the pain of relating was worth the pleasure.

The inner work that I had been doing before my “sanctuary was invaded” actually did have value, though. The health that I had achieved allowed me to respond to some really hard situations from a mature place.

I was able to be my best self - most of the time.

The growth I had achieved certainly wasn’t wasted, but it also wasn’t complete. Growth without that final step of integration is always incomplete.

The Trade Off

Relationships are always tough, especially in the beginning as you adjust and learn each other’s ways. Maybe that’s why the sexual attraction is on overdrive! That physical drive balances out the growing pains of really getting to know each other.

When that flood of hormones calms down, you’re left with the messy reality of learning how to actually live together, imperfectly. You have to learn to like each other - to have mercy - even on the days when it’s hard to be likeable.

After ten years together, I have noticed that most of the issues we have revolve around the things and people John brings into our lives that I would probably (*definitely*) otherwise avoid. The messy stuff.

The human stuff.

Life was so much easier when I could just say no.

Hello. My name is Greta and I’m an avoider.

It’s been two weeks since my last avoidance.

When I was alone, there were no serious repercussions from my habit of avoidance. I just did or didn’t do whatever I chose. I chalked it up to personal preference or my fluctuating energy level. I named it self-care.

There was no one beside me to say, “Why don’t you want to go with me? I really want to do this thing!” or “I didn’t notice anything weird or stressful about that person… They seemed okay to me.”

When I was alone, no one was hurt by my avoidance. Not so now.

Choosing to be in a relationship means recalibrating and compromise. Relationships require us to examine the dark corners of our souls where we never wanted to look. Relationships bring pain - often growing pains - as we’re pulled, sometimes kicking and screaming, out of our bubbles.

Being “forced” out of my bubble has meant facing some uncomfortable truths about myself in relation to the world.

My Dark Corners

I realize that I notice more than others tend to notice and it’s not something I can change.

I pick up on subtle facial expressions and tones. I hear people chew. I keep track of where things are and I notice when they’ve been moved. I know the exact time. I can feel the tag in my shirt rubbing my neck and I hear one of the chickens cackling outside, probably laying an egg. My dog is napping behind me and he’s smacking his lips about something; the other one just sighed. The wood in the fire popped downstairs. The computer hums quietly. It’s a little chilly inside but my arms and hands always get cold when I type. The refrigerator just came on, and my earrings make a tinkling sound when I turn my head…

I notice Every. Damn. Thing. All the time.

Naturally, I’ve been told all my life, “You’re too sensitive”.

A quick Google search of the word “Sensitive” conjures images like this:

According to the vast internet oracle, “sensitive people” are usually women and they’re either crying or they have a skin condition, perhaps both.

Owning up to being sensitive isn’t easy in the face of such stereotypes.

“Dorothy Indulges the Cyclone” (2017)

When I was doing Shadow and Inner-Child work all those years ago, I attributed my sensitivity to hypervigilance from childhood trauma. Abuse teaches victims to look for danger and stay on constant alert. We learn to read faces to keep ourselves safe and we learn to capitulate - to people please - to avoid conflict that could lead to danger.

Given that, my hypervigilance made sense. I kept doing the work to clear my trauma: more journalling, more meditation, more Reiki… all the while, my muscle tension and migraines persisted.

No matter what I did, I could not seem to clear “my emotional blockage”.

So, what if it isn’t an emotional blockage? What if I am healed to a large extent and this is just me?

While I may have had energy blocks to clear, I’ve learned that being highly sensitive is not necessarily the effect of abuse. According to research, some people are born this way.

Highly Sensitive Person and Science

Known diagnostically as “Sensory processing sensitivity”, the condition of High Sensitivity is real and affects 20% of all people.

When you think of it conversely, that means 20% of us are surrounded by a staggering 80% of folks who are not sensitive (to varying degrees).

Imagine being the tree.

It doesn’t have to be black and white.

John, for instance, is not highly sensitive but he is somewhat sensitive which makes our connection viable. On the other hand, there are people walking around who are absolutely scraping the bottom of the sensitivity barrel, and I can usually sense it when I’m around them. In their presence, I begin to feel uncomfortable, my energy level drops and I feel a strong urge to get away. It’s not that they’re bad, it’s just an incompatibility issue. Like oil and water.

Naturally, they don’t sense it.

Feeling different from most other people can be confusing to highly sensitive people. We don’t understand why we’re different and most people are usually not supportive, if they believe us at all. We can feel “high-maintenance” compared to other folks as they assign us labels like “difficult” or “finicky” and, of course, “too sensitive”.

We feel like outsiders. We feel… well, everything. Intensely.

It starts early.

Research has proven that highly sensitive (HS) children who are raised in supportive homes are likely to become leaders in their communities. Conversely, abused HS children are highly prone to depression later in life.

Because the 80% of non-sensitive folks are largely unaware (and probably disinterested) in an HS’s experience, they’re unlikely to offer support, even if they mean well as parents.

But there’s hope…

Research also finds that even HS children who are raised in less than ideal circumstances can also come out okay if they have a positive, reassuring influence in some area of their lives at some point - basically, a beacon in the dark.

HS and Autism

Some researchers argue that High Sensitivity is part of the Autism spectrum but Elaine Aron, author of The Highly Sensitive Person (1996), believes the two conditions are separate.

Research is ongoing.

Aron uses the anacronym of D.O.E.S. to explain the main characteristics of High Sensitivity:

• D - Depth of Processing

• O - Tendency to quickly become Over-stimulated

• E - Tendency to have Emotional Reactivity and Empathy

• S - Tendency to be Sensitive to Subtle changes in the Environment

Personally, I recognize both Autism and HSP tendencies in myself. I tend to think they’re related, if not in the same family. Perhaps clarity will come with time. Because I’m not trying to be diagnosed to receive accommodations at work or social benefits and I’m not interested in taking medication, I guess the distinction isn’t that important to me at this stage in my life.

I’m just trying to make sense of how my tangled bunch of neurons fits into this world.

Obviously, my childhood gave me a strong dose of hypervigilance. Being born highly sensitive, amplified by early childhood trauma (not to mention the later-in-life trauma), means I have a lot to unpack, including my struggles with motherhood which are intertwined and inseparable.

So, does this mean that I’m “prone to depression” as research predicts? All the circumstances above would indicate so, and yet my life has also been punctuated by hope. I believe that’s made all the difference.

I truly believe that art saved me, in some capacity, and it continues to do so. Art and my grandfather. Through these two beacons I’ve known both self-expression and unconditional love.

I still find it difficult to express myself through words (in person) and I have a hard time loving myself unconditionally, but I’m feeling my way through the darkness.

Integration

Where my solution in the past had been to isolate, I’m now trying a healthier stance (from my very remote home off grid, by the way).

I want to be present in the larger world - not just the world I create for myself. I want to greet novel experiences and people openly, but I also realize I may need to retreat if those energies are not a good match. I’m giving myself permission to do that.

Self-care also means that I need a lot of down time to rest and process my thoughts. I need avenues of expression (like art) to flesh out my philosophical discoveries, since finding others who crave deep conversations is rare.

I’m also determined to be more open to finding those people - wherever they may be. I’m guessing we HSPs are all a bit lonely.

Maybe that’s why most of my art is people… I’m creating my own friends. I’m not sure whether that’s clever or just sad…

“Cassandra” 2016

As a highly sensitive person, I understand that this world can be an uncomfortable place for me but I know that’s true for many others, too. 20%, to be exact.

On the bright side, HSPs are brimming with empathy and an intuitive understanding of others. We process deeply and, often, subconsciously. This gives us an inexplicable ability to connect dots, recognize patterns and predict future events with uncanny accuracy. We understand people, for better or worse, and can often predict their next moves.

We just can’t usually understand why we’re so damn different.

Please, if you know a child who might fit the HS description, be mindful to encourage their differences and show them some unconditional acceptance. You might be the only beacon they get.

Let them know that we make great artists, writers, caregivers and doctors, research scientists, and especially friends, when we find each other.

Maybe instead of being on high-alert looking for danger and noticing irritants, we could refocus our attention to be on the lookout for one another - for subtle signs. Perhaps we could use our finely-tuned imaginations for building beautiful connections instead of elaborate bubbles.

I’m going to try.

I love you all. Be well.