Most of my life I believed I’m a late bloomer. And in many ways, when compared to some sort of standard, I indeed am: there is an abundance of things I got to do way later in life than most. I know now that it never mattered (still doesn’t) how quick, slow, hard or easy I find things in life. As long as I’m moving and changing, at my own pace, I’m doing it right. And so do you, fellow late bloomer, or you, slightly less familiar early bloomer.
But I’ve recently realised that alongside being a late bloomer, there has always – or at least for the past decade – been a sphere of life in which I seemed to be right ahead of my peers. Emotional sensitivity, intuition and self-awareness were the things that – then and again – kept setting me aside. And ultimately getting me into endless trouble.
Self-awareness is great, but in my early experience, it’s been rarely welcomed. Especially when a person you wished to introduce it to, was not – to say the least – at the same stage of the process. And because for so long in my life I encountered almost exclusively people who were at very different stages to me, I tried my best to fight it off, convincing myself that it’s bad for me (or at least for my relations with others), that it indeed makes life much more painful and lonely. Tried and failed, of course, since you cannot really unlearn things: the seed got in, landed on fertile ground and wasn’t going anywhere. Determined to not let it ruin my social life, I’ve just kept it to myself.
There were people, in and out of my life, who occasionally seemed to get it, to be genuinely interested in jumping on that self-awareness ride with me. And what a joy that was, to share it!
Yet every single time it came to an abrupt end, which I could never foresee. Sooner or later every person on that ride started withdrawing. All at once or slowly, but we were indisputably growing apart. It always went too far for them, I’ve always reached their ultimate wall, an invisible boundary behind which they were not ready to venture. Not yet, maybe not ever.
I only now start to see why.
As messed up as I always believed myself to be, I actually was doing one thing right: I was going through all my personal and existential crises and difficult emotions head on. Yes, for the external world, it looked like I was losing my mind: for a long time my parents genuinely believed I have some serious anger issues (I don’t). My insane need to document it all, to analyse and transfer it all onto paper seemed so pointless and so mental to so many around me (me included, at points)! But I just couldn’t help it. I just had to do it.
And how fucking glad I am I did!
Because it helped me build resilience and vulnerability that I value above anything else in my life. It taught me how to be close to my emotions, to not run away from them. First results of which were of course tragic and extremely messy. And sure thing I tried suppressing and avoiding at various points too! Only to laugh out loud when I read my diary back. In retrospect, honestly: even though it seemed easier at times, it never did me any good, only prolonged the process, unnecessarily extending the pain that needed to be felt anyway.
Yes, it is a process and one hell of a journey at that, but it’s worth it. My most recent crisis shows this very clearly: sure it’s still difficult, painful and messy (intense emotions ought to be). I’m far from saying that it’s easy for me to deal with the crisis. Of course not, it’s still a fucking crisis. But I’m going through it in such an immeasurably healthier way than ever before! Letting myself feeling all the emotions as they come, with their full intensity, makes such a big difference. Analysing the shit out of it actually helps. Trusting my own process helps. Not withholding anything helps. Taking time off work helps. Expressing pure despair helps. Crying, sobbing and screaming helps. Letting myself and my struggles be heard and seen by people who would listen and support me helps. Knowing who I am, what I want and what I stand for helps.
I know how to (eventually) find my balance in the chaos, how to handle the unwelcomed tension. It’s not pleasant (to say the least), but I know I’ll get to the other side of this, whatever that side may actually be. Because I know I can change, I can adapt and I can grow: on anything, anywhere, like those flowers on the wall. I know how to bounce back, how to transform all that pain into inner strength rather than another trauma. I know how to help myself go through whatever I need to go through. And believe me, when your whole scrupulously and consciously built world suddenly crushes down around you, this inner knowledge is the only power that still, somehow, pushes you forward.
That and the support you get from other people. I mean, seriously, whoever said it first, was so damn right: healing happens in relationships.
So just let me say it from here: many thanks to all my supportive friends who keep holding me through this. I appreciate you so damn much.
And just to add an entirely different (yet equally valid!) angle on resilience topic, here’s a good blogpost to read and consider: Resilience? Meh.
dreamyania 