Feeling My Way Through Life

"All I know is that I exist, and that I feel things"

Those were the words spoken to God that flowed through my tears on an unusually chilly, yet lonely spring night as I lay in my bed, swallowed up by darkness and the loudness of the world's silence. I was trying to go to sleep after a failed attempt to silence the nagging fear in the pit of my gut. I had reached a point of desperation and I was finally verbally acknowledging God again. For a long time, I had stopped talking out loud to God, because I reached a point in which I felt my words were empty. My feelings did not match my words and the prayers felt insincere, almost mechanical. But on this particular night, they found themselves fully aligned again.

"What good are my feelings?" They were wearing me out. What was I feeling about now? Perhaps something said during conversation I had with a guy that I secretly longed to be in a committed relationship with. Or maybe it was the antsy feeling I felt lately each time I talked to him. That antsy feeling was my secret desire to be the center of attention, which he certainly was NOT making me out to be; instead our conversations were centered around him and I wanted to find a way to get off of the phone. I am emotionally sensitive. I don't think I was ever taught how to manage my sensitivity. This is something I've had to discover through experience. I find myself easily rocked by the words of others, good or bad. My attitude toward myself easily colored and imposed upon by how I assume others perceive me, and me pondering how I feel about this. This is the epiphany I came to that night I cried to God. I feel my way through life. I remember people not necessarily by how they look, but by the way their words and overall presence make me feel. I remember movies, songs, political and social events, dates and years not by the specifics of what took place during them, but by my general feelings after I lived through them. "2011 was a good year", not because it was actually a great year, but because my memory recalls good feelings.

I would say over the past three years of my life, I attempted to embody the words of the people who had the greatest influence on me. These would be folks I were connected to though social media; some I knew personally and others I'd ever met. Their words felt like something hard, cold and stern. Like a thick, black line that is drawn on a white piece of paper. Boundaries. Unemotional. Logic. But this was unnatural and opposite of what I am at my core. That night in my bed with my tears was the beginning of a series of steps leading me to the end of denying myself; a small victory in the conflict between my inner being and the outer shell I presented to the world.

I'm so entangled in my feelings that it becomes hard to separate them from who I am. My feelings come from me, but they are not me. Yet they are an extension of me; they are deep, they are passionate, they are strong, and they are like the element of water. Water is complex. It can be refreshing, healing. Or it can be forceful and deadly. Water can usher hidden things to the surface, or it can plunge them deep into the depths. So goes my feelings. So goes me.

I've always wanted someone to understand and appreciate this about me, to be unafraid to ride that wave with me and never leave. But to be fair I now think this expectation is unreasonable, particularly when there are times that I don't even understand myself.

"So what am I going to do about this?" I thought. "How can I utilize my feelings in a productive way?" I still hadn't reached the moment where I knew what I wanted to do with the rest of my life. The start of Year 32 had ushered in a reality that feels harsh and finite so far. A reality that I will not be contained in this physical body forever. I try not to think about this but every now and then when I feel unaccomplished, unproductive, unfulfilled, my subconscious finds a way to remind me. Well, this is what happened that night in bed after the final tear dropped: I emptied out my sadness and it was replaced with annoyance and determination. I was determined to manage my feelings and confront the beliefs about myself that created the practice of trying to anticipate what others thought about me and caring so much about it.

Feelings can clue you in to the opportunity to self-heal, or they can be used to lead yourself down a road fogged with paranoia and gullibility. I choose the former, through courageous and disciplined action.

Seraena is an Introvert.

It can get extremely frustrating living in a society of people who make assumptions about you because you are quiet. A lot of people have misconceptions about me.

I am introverted. I am not shy. I thought I was, because it's a label constantly thrown on me. They are not the same. Being around people does not intimidate me. I see right through to the insecurity of lots of loud people all the time.

1) People assume quiet people don't like to talk. Not true. I just don't like to talk excessively about nothingness. And ESPECIALLY over the phone (Dear GOD not the phone). A few of my friends assume I don't love (or like) them because I don't call them. Please don't do this. To be honest I hate the phone. But I love YOU (I really do). And I love talking in person to you. You can text me though. As an introvert I think texting is one of the greatest inventions of all time.
But back to nothingness. I just find small talk to be boring. I'm not really a "chit chat" chick. I understand the need for it, I mean everybody can't be deep all the time and neither am I, but I just feel like if I don't have anything interesting or productive to say, I'd rather not talk at all. I think before I speak. I do a lot more thinking (and daydreaming. And fantasizing, LOL) than speaking. I don't always find it necessary to share my opinion or fill every gap of silence with idle noise. I like the phrase "If somebody's talking, somebody's lying."

2) People assume that quiet people are not outgoing. I like to go out. LOL. I just don't need to go out as much as extroverted people do. I've done a lot of things. With a lot of people. I just don't talk about them *wink*

3) People assume I am weak or timid because I am quiet. I'm very FAR from it. How about I just don't prefer to engage low minded people. More power to you if you have the energy for that. I DON'T.

4) I am not weird. I am not anti-social. I am not mean. I am not lonely or sad or depressed (although folks' ignorance can cause this). I am not a little mouse in need of a mother hen. I just don't require lots of people time. And noise. And busybodies <--- (these people need to be shipped to Pluto).

5) I find that spending time with myself is more energizing and stimulating than spending time in the presence of people. I read & research things, I write out my thoughts & ideas, I work out, I listen to music..those things alone provide just enough mental & emotional stimulation to keep me preoccupied for hours. How does anyone get the time to feel bored?? I previously never understood people who constantly say that, but perhaps introversion/extroversion plays a role.

The reality is, the world is bias toward extroverted people. The world values the traits of being aggressive, loud & talkative and high energy. That is equated with success and happiness. Introverted people are forced to fake it to fit in; they are mistakenly (and annoyingly) labeled as shy, told to "loosen up" and "come out of their shell"; they are treated like something is wrong with them or "less than" because they aren't constantly making noise and seeking attention from other people. Well I'm speaking out about it, so to speak (LOL)! No seriously, the bias is overrated, predictable and quite old. Quiet people do not need to be ashamed for being who they are. The world needs more people like us :)

A good interview about introverts: http://www.scientificamerican.com/article.cfm?id=the-power-of-introverts

Excellent myth busting article about introverts: http://http://www.carlkingdom.com/10-myths-about-introverts

The Real Reason Why I'm Single

It took me quite a while to figure this out. First I must say, I never thought in a million years that I’d be 31 and single with no kids. If you had gone back to 2000 and told the 18 year old me that this is where I’d be in 2013, I would have vehemently rejected the reality. I just KNEW I was gonna be married to some dude named Brandon (not a real dude, just always adored that name) with four kids (two boys and two girls) living in a large ass house with a wrap around porch in the suburbs somewhere. Yeah.

Anyway, I’m no different than any other youngin. I’ve had my fair share of dating & relationship experience and the ups & downs that come with it. As the years rolled by, first the excuse was that I couldn’t find a good guy. Let me just be candid; I’ve dated some, shall we say, “offbeat” men. One friend even referred to me as a “scavenger”…as I seemed to pick through what’s left over in the men pile (really!). Either he wasn’t physically or mentally or financially fit, or we didn’t share the same religious beliefs…really a bunch of superficial stuff.

Before I knew it, I’d turned into this intense serial dater and the melodramatic cycle I experienced went something like this: meet guy; complete and overt infatuation consumes entire thought process; guy does something to utterly burst bubble (i.e. reality sets in); spend weeks recovering from the high. What I was really doing was chasing the high of the newness. I needed that excitement that newness brought to make me feel alive. After the newness wore off and reality kicked in (burst bubble) I became disappointed or bored, only to traipse off further into the field of daises to encounter my next victim object of affection. How immature right?

Hindsight is always 20/20. Truth be told, I was always the one running away when things got too real. I accused my men of being emotionally unavailable, yet it was I, too, who was unavailable after a certain point and didn’t realize it; mistaking the passion of sexual relations for deep emotional connection and commitment. And sometimes I ran because I wanted to “reject him before he rejects me.” It took a couple of times of actually being rejected and allowing myself to feel the sting of it before I made myself take a break and really think about why I kept repeating this cycle. Why was I single? Why did I want a relationship so bad? Being alone with myself, I realized I was seeking to prove my worth to the world through a relationship. I wanted a man to make me feel like I was worth something; to make me feel ALIVE. I wanted this more than the relationship itself. Because deep down inside, regardless of being told how brilliant or beautiful I was, regardless of the smile on my face and the “I’m fine, things are great” response I gave folks when they asked how I was, on a subconscious level I felt worthless. It had not occurred to me that I could engage myself in other areas of life to build my confidence and realize my worth as a human first and as a woman second. It should be a common sense thing, and we hear and read about it all the time, but sometimes it takes personally getting through a painful experience to fully understand.

Relationships are beautiful when they’re built by the right people. I think there are limitations though, and I’m mindful of that now. Relationships with others are built from the outside, and I no longer agree that your sense of self worth can be found there. That’s the limit. It can only come from within, where there are no limits.

I should stop saying I’m single and say that I’m in a relationship with myself. I am taking time to fully know me and what it feels like to understand that I don’t have to prove my worth to anyone!

Acknowledgement

Learning to let go of proving my worth
Not impressed with being so-called “intelligent” over average minds,
because most times I am a walking talking mashup
of previously spoken words, ideas, and thoughts.
I’m everywhere.
And other times, I’m original and brilliant.
Sometimes, I lack social grace. I’m graceful enough to acknowledge that
I don’t know it all or have life all figured out.
I’m mature enough to realize that I no longer have to pretend like I do.
Acknowledgement doesn’t equal acceptance, but
It puts me a step closer to where I want to be, which is closer to me

Do You Really KNOW Me?

When you look at my face, what do you see? Do you see a person of trust? Do you see a person of respect? Do you see someone you can have fun with? Do you see someone you can confide in? Do I look like a person who pays all her bills on time? Am I someone you could envision yourself doing business with?

A lot of people do not know me. That’s because I spent a long time not knowing myself. Sometimes that can happen when a person is deeply traumatized; they retreat into another world to escape the pain felt being present in this one. I've gone through the day to day life (you may have lived with me, or gone to school with me, or work(ed)with me, you may have befriended/dated/partied with me) but I wasn't fully engaged. Well in the words of Erykah Badu “I don’t wanna time travel no mo’. I wanna be here.”

I want people to know me. "Know me” means something totally different now, than what it used to mean when I was, say, 21. Back then, “know me” meant having people say “oh she is SUCH a sweet person!” These days, “know me” means something more like the tangible versions of trust and respect and charity. "Know me" means seeing and relating to the totality of my character, flaws & all. "Know me" means allowing my writings to speak to a place within you that exists within me (within all of us) that you are too afraid to acknowledge and love. A place of vulnerability, yet a place of untapped and unlimited thought and potential for greatness.

Allow me, through the writing gift that God has given me, to reintroduce myself to YOU

Shame, pt. 2

I’d say the solitary event that brought the most shame and changed the trajectory of my esteem for 17 years is when I was raped at age 14. Sure there was prison and counseling involved at the time, but it didn’t go far enough. No relative outside of my immediate family knew (immediate being mother and younger brother). I may have only told one or two close friends about it. I even had a boyfriend I told used it against me when we got into an argument and I vowed to never talk about it again.

Prior to my experience, I do not recall being sat down and explained to what rape was. My idea of rape was courtesy of television. Rape was violent. Rape involved a woman at least putting up a struggle to keep her honor. But, sometimes rape isn’t violent. Sometimes the victim is blamed. Sometimes the victim can get counseling but still suffers, like a person involved in a car accident with side effects long after the moment of impact happened. I felt shame because I was raped and I did not fight back. I felt like a loser. Counseling did not explain this feeling away.

As a young adult, I witnessed some with the courage to air their dirty laundry face criticism. And it was not just of rape, but whatever else society considers to be dirty laundry (molestation, addictions, abuse, poverty, etc). I silenced myself for fear of experiencing the same and pretended to be a well adjusted human being and get on with “normal” life. But there are some things you cannot work away; you cannot party and drink away, and you cannot sex away; you cannot eat or exercise away, you cannot shop away, you cannot concert away, and dare I say you cannot even church & pray away with fervor (yes, I wholeheartedly done that too).

It makes sense now, the difficulty I’ve faced trying to trudge through life goals full steam ahead while dismissing what I perceived to be trivial mental distractions. It was really my intuition calling me to address what I’d suppressed for so many years – the deceitfulness and betrayal of the shame I felt in being me, a young girl who did not fight back. Every wrong, every unfavorable outcome or opinion, every imagined rejection, every soured relationship, I would tell myself how I allowed it to happen and didn’t fight back, and suddenly I was 14 again. This pattern wasn’t a conscious realization until now.

The right questions and answers have been coming to help me figure out how to go about getting true healing for myself. I no longer shun the idea of seeking counseling again. And as I said in pt 1, I believe part of my healing & letting go was being transparent and writing about it. I am going add complete self-honesty and really thinking about my needs first. I need love without judgment. I need people I can trust. I need to practice trusting wisely and loving without judgment and not running away when things get ugly or imperfect. I believe it all starts with me - loving and trusting myself without judgment, and without shame.

Coming out of the Closet (of Shame)

I want to talk about shame, and how shame has shaped roughly 17 out of 31 years of my life. I’m writing this because I’ve been holding on to something for a long time, feeling ashamed about it, and didn’t realize I still was (see Shame pt. 2). I understand the effect shame has had over my life and I believe in order to heal and truly let it go I need to be transparent and talk (write) about it.

First, let’s define shame. Some definitions (all from the Oxford Pocket Dictionary of Current English):

“A painful feeling of humiliation or distress caused by the consciousness of wrong or foolish behavior”

“A loss of respect or esteem; dishonor”

“A person, action or situation that brings a loss of respect or honor”

“cause (someone) to feel ashamed or inadequate by outdoing or surpassing them”

So, to use some of these definitions in place of the word shame: I have been carrying with me some very painful feelings of humiliation and distress, caused by both subliminal and overt messages and circumstance, basically telling me who I am is wrong and undesirable. I felt humiliated and ashamed to be me. For being tall, for being poor, with small eyes and a wide nose like my father and dark brown skin. It felt painful. I felt inadequate for not being loud and entertaining; not being well known and well connected. I felt inadequate for not being the so called black man’s dream, for having no ass, or not showing my ass; for having small breasts and the inability (and later flat out refusal) to stay in the mall and the salon.

Yeah, the frustration and constant reminder of my so called “flaws” replaying over and over again in my mind and not knowing how to turn them off, is enough to make anyone slightly neurotic.

Here is how shame has impacted me:

1) I viewed myself as a burden therefore I did everything I could to stay in the background, as close to invisible as possible. However shame begat shame, as staying in the background meant the shame of not being a popular and outgoing (fun) personality. I tried managing what people thought and felt about me by being sweet, silent, submissive (and adversely, forgettable); the Omega female. Looking back, this was really all an attempt to indirectly minimize my feelings of inferiority (shame).

2) I never learned how to effectively communicate my feelings. I learned to suppress them because I assumed that nobody cared to know. I recall as a teen, when I wanted to talk to my mother about my thoughts and my feelings, I didn’t receive the feedback I longed for that let me know she heard and understood me. My attempts to gain clarity were met with subject changing, passive ignoring, and attention on something else of her interest. This is how I perceived and interpreted our interactions, and I further interpreted them to mean I must not be interesting enough to give attention to (shame). So, again, be quiet. What other people say, think & feel is more interesting and surpasses my own words, thought and feelings. My coping mechanisms became writing and “thinking out loud” when I was alone.

3) I learned to run away when things got too real. Relationships can get messy. If someone did something I didn’t like, I have seethed in self-righteous silence or sabotaged or flat out ended the entire relationship. It was easier than saying “hey, you did/said xyz and it made me feel like this.” Again, I was ashamed of my feelings. I felt hopeless that anything would change. My decision making skills were based upon imagined events that had never even taken place. This is what happens when an overactive creative imagination is used in a negative way.

4) Having to be my own coach and mentor, my own friend, my own therapist because shame imprisoned me from trusting others and reaching out for help because “that’s what ‘weak’ people do and the last thing I want to do is be perceived as weak because that’s what I already think everybody is thinking about me”…feeling weak for needing outside validation. No. What I was really seeking was somebody to tell me I was okay just the way I was. What I was really seeking was for somebody to LISTEN to ME and ask me what I thought and how I felt, without being prompted, and actually care about the answer just as much as I made it my business to care what others thought and felt (reciprocity). But I didn’t know how to communicate that.

I probably could have made this into several posts but my thoughts and urgency to share began to flow faster than I could type. Like the root of a tree that has many branches there will be more to come. And I needed to get this out because I have a CPA exam to finish and a few malnourished business ideas I need to develop, among other goals.