Tag: detachment

089a – safety and choice

I tell my father that people sometimes cry pretty easily in front of me. He is surprised. There’s space and silence as he processes this so I add that that’s not necessarily a bad thing though, and I almost feel nice that they feel safe around me. (Of course, truthfully, I know this isn’t about me and I’m just an aid or an instrument to what they might have needed, but admittedly, I’m happy when I’m able to offer a non-judgemental space to someone). He laughs and asks how i can feel good about making people cry. I think he is partially joking but I know it’s only partially so. He has never experienced safety in the ways I strive to experience (and hence, also bring to people) on a regular basis. This devastates me and yet I know I can’t spend too much time thinking about this. 

When I was much younger I would sometimes fantasise about people telling me their deepest, darkest secrets. I don’t know if this meant anything and part of me knows that I perhaps had a bit of a saviour complex. But I look up what a saviour complex means and a saviour complex is tied to fixing. I don’t think I ever wanted to solve people’s problems, even in my fantasies (unless they wanted me to, of course). I don’t know where this came from, then. Maybe this part of me just wanted to tell my deepest, darkest secrets to someone and I envisioned being this person for that part. It’s all good now, though. I experienced almost 10/10 safety through therapy and I don’t feel the need to offer safety to people for my own happiness. 

It feels nice to be here. Starting to think about choice a lot more. At 23, I started the journey of disidentification and detachment from my thoughts. At 28, I started the same with feelings. I’m recognising that thoughts and feelings are just that— thoughts and feelings. While it’s true that some of them can mean something and some of them can be worth listening to and following, I keep in mind now that there is always a choice. Choice of belief, choice of how much meaning you want to assign to them, choice of response. I’ve spent enough time with my feelings over the last few months to now for know that I don’t need to spending all my time with my feelings. 

Art is nice, of course. It allows to me pour my thoughts and feelings into something. Something tangible, almost. I suppose in a way, it gives meaning and an end and a home to my thoughts and feelings. It’s safe. Maybe that’s the primary reason I do this, maybe that’s the primary reason I’ve always done this. Of course, if someone miraculously finds value in it, that makes me incredibly happy, but I suppose there is enough value in it for me too. 

I don’t believe in a forever anymore. It sounds pessimistic and unromantic but i feel really great about believing this. To me, it means that I have fully grieved the people I’ve lost. Because if no feeling is final, how can a forever be final? Choice (and hope) is what makes a forever, and choice is hopefully something you can always carry with you. (I pray to god I never have to be out of choice.) xx 

017 – we have no egos to protect

Sitting on the couch and thinking about the ego again tonight. There’s a strong inner critic in me that puts me down left and right so others won’t. I’ve had negative history with people who’re overconfident and assertive that at some point I decided to “never” be that way. I internalized that so strongly that I never evaluated whether I have a choice. I want to work towards a healthy self-perception.

It makes sense that I could supposedly deal with my fears (being disliked, rejection, not belonging) if I realize that I have no ego to protect. 

I suppose it might be insane to think of these big clouds of fear and try to resolve them. I can only take them on case by case. Notice when they come up, acknowledge them, analyze situations cognitively and take action accordingly.

One thing I don’t love is how much they also show up in my language. I am so afraid of being assertive and saying anything too strongly. I am not happy with the amount of “I think”s and “I feel”s I add in my sentences. Sometimes they’re warranted, and I can let them stay if they really feel right, but right now I think I’m erring on the side of having too many.

I’m struggling with my motivation behind writing. There’s a part of me that wants to write for myself, there’s a part of me that wants to think about the readers. I talk about this struggle in pretty much everything I write these days. Should I consider if there’s ways to solve this? Did I quick google search and god there’s a ton of writing advice online. Don’t feel ready for that yet.

My fear with writing “only for myself” is whether all of this is coming across as “too self-indulgent”. I don’t really have an ego to protect though, so I could technically be okay with that. Self-work can be embarrassing when we’re starting out, and I suppose accepting that can make this easier for me. But accepting that requires continued doing, so I suppose I just have to keep building the muscle. I also know that I can only get to the potentially interesting stories that I want to tell once I get these surface level stories out.

I know that publishing everything I write has been good for me, though. It’s made me more consistent, I’ve never written so much, so consistently. But it has been a bit addictive in that I don’t always feel like going out and getting things done. Maybe that’s the self-indulgent part of me. I keep getting the feeling that I’m trying to think my way into satisfaction and happiness. Maybe I do need to set some goals for the month this weekend. Cannot keep reflecting my way out of them.

I suppose I have to look at the cost to this kind of self-indulgence (for the purpose of this post I’ll just call it that), if I want to decide whether it’s a problem. I have a couple of ideas that I want to explore and write about, in ways that could be more satisfactory (since I believe they can be more coherent and meaty in ways these self-talk posts can’t). Or, thinking about it more clearly, adding aesthetic or functional value to even a few more people could be better than only adding value for myself. 

I’ll also have to confront myself a bit, am I just lazing around when I’m doing this? Is this actually adding much value to me or am I just running around in circles? I don’t know if I’m ready to think about these questions yet.

I can think of a helpful reframe though. Once we get done with the things we need to say, we can start thinking about the things we want to say.

I’m considering adding a satisfaction rating to each of these posts. 0 being the satisfaction I get from not publishing anything at all, and 10 being the satisfaction I get from publishing something I’m really proud of (in terms of aesthetic quality or meaningful content or perceived value add to other people), I think these reflection-y posts lie somewhere around 4/5. If I can observe this over a period of time and throw in a higher satisfaction post once in a while, I should be good. I won’t tell you guys though. 🙂

I’m definitely being lazy. I know it’ll involve more time and effort if I start thinking about quality. It’s alright though, I know I could get there eventually, if I wanted to. 

It’s a new day. Sitting on a chair and trying to wrap this up. I’m feeling quite proud of the relationships I’ve built and deepened in the last year or so. Don’t know whether it has to do anything with me or their own niceness but regardless, these are things that I’m extremely grateful for.

Sometimes I consume content which distracts me from the things I wanted to write about. I don’t even remember them anymore. Detachment feels quite depressing sometimes. If I am detached from the world and detached from myself then I won’t have as much to write about anymore. Though I know that’s not true and connected detachment can be a thing, I don’t yet know how to balance the line. 

There’s a lot happening in the world these days and I often feel quite guilty for not keeping up with it. What is up with the collective pain of humanity and the numerous ways in which it shows up? Politics feels like a scary, dense realm to even think about.

I’ve jumped around a lot in this word-vomit (we’re back to calling these that, aren’t we?), so I’d like to end with an exchange of words that took place around six months back. I’d met someone new and we were talking about our hopes and dreams. Naturally, I’d mentioned writing. “What would you write about?”, she’d asked me. “That’s the question, isn’t it?”, I’d questioned back. Thinking about that wistfulness again tonight.