Quarantine Chronicles III: Insecure, Invisible, Love
All of two months ago, I was somebody’s second option’s second option—and it was trash!
Ending up at this conclusion wasn’t fun. I mean it’s a funny thought. Though, honestly I’m not sure that I’m ready to laugh about it just yet, because the wound it emerged from is still pretty fresh, but one day I know I’ll look back at it and shake my head while thinking ‘how I got ova!’ “love” dragged me into a mess and Love is what is pulling me out, let me tell you what I mean:
You see, I am a ball of feelingsy mess. It takes people a while to know that about me, and I don’t share that side of myself with many people. If being a feelingsy adolescent, teenager, 20-something and now 30-something, has taught me anything it’s that feelings are tricky little things. They have a way of wearing multiple masks; parading around in one until you chase them down, and just when you think you’ve got them pinned they take that mask off, leaving you in awe (or in a straight up stupor) of what’s underneath. I could take this analogy farther, but you see where I’m going… anywho, back to “love”. Most recently I was in “love” with Nine. Nine made falling in “love” with him easy (he listened, he was thoughtful, he laughed [I’m a sucker for making a man laugh], he looked at me and really saw me, etc.). I shared my rants about the world with Nine. I shared my favorite recipes with Nine. I shared my like with Nine (maybe not all, I like a lot of things). I shared all of my dislikes with Nine (well not exactly all, I’ve got a lot of dislikes). I shared who I really am with Nine. The day I was made aware that I was not the only one who Nine listened to, laughed with and looked at, etc., was the day I felt like someone had knocked me down and didn’t bother to look back or say sorry. That was the night that I laid in bed, alone, crying uncontrollably wondering how someone I had grown to “love” didn’t actually Love me; and it would be days later, after wrestling with all the feels, before I realized that the “love” I felt wasn’t really that at all. When I was ready to unmask “love”, I saw what was underneath and boy was it a doozy.
“Insecurity and invisibility”. What? How? Why? Trust and believe me when I say that I was equal parts confused, disappointed, and relieved**—I mean it!
When I reflect on how I felt about Nine, I realize that I felt the way I felt, because of his actions towards me (actions that I would later learn were not exclusive to me), not because of him. He made me feel seen. He made me feel heard. He made me feel unafraid to be loud and take up space. He allowed me to be wrong. Nine made me feel like I was worth it (I still don’t know what it was at the time, I just knew that whatever it was, I was a worthy recipient). What I failed to notice during those uncomfortably hot nights, spent with warm tears pouring out of my eyes, is that the real reason Nine was able to break me into pieces was because I let the way he saw me validate the way I could see myself. Allow me to uncomfortably explain:
Nine’s actions afforded me a false-sense of “visibility”. I craved being seen. So having that “visibility” meant that my deep-seeded fears of being unlovable and easily over-looked couldn’t be true. But if the “visibility” was false… then it necessarily followed that I must really be unlovable and easily over-looked. (I really struggled with that one, even now just typing the words is hard). I let myself believe that if this person, whom I respected and grew to care about didn’t genuinely reciprocate those feelings then that meant I was, in a way, undeserving of those things. When I think back to the month that followed said revelation, I see how I made it a self-fulfilling prophecy. I barely did my job (a thing that I am incredibly competent at). I ignored my leadership commitments (something that comes naturally to me). I hid behind listening to friends’ problems (listening to and helping the people I care about makes me happy). I laid down a lot (I love being active, even standing is better than nothing for me). I rewatched hours of TV (not because they were my favorite shows, but because there was a comfortable numbness in the predictability). During that numberless month, I didn’t want to be seen and I didn’t want to feel. But just when I thought I was becoming accustomed to melting away into midday naps and all-day couch watch parties, a friend threw me a simple lifeline,
It’s amazing outside and I’ve got errands to run, care to ride?
Sure, call me when you’re close.
I got home after dark, washed my face, brushed my teeth, wrapped my hair and got in bed. After an evening of laughing and lamenting with one of my oldest friends, I laid down to enjoy the cool quiet of my bed until something unexpected happened—“insecurity and invisibility” were gone, and what was left was Love.
**Remember earlier when I said I was equal parts confused, disappointed, and relieved when I discovered that second mask: I was confused because I couldn’t make sense of what had happened and how it happened; disappointed at myself for being naïve and desperate for attention; relieved to know that since Nine had shown me that I didn’t matter to him, I could close that door forever and set fire to the whole thing! (that last bit is really important)**
That night as I lay in bed, post retail-errand-friend therapy, I felt full for the first time in a long time. So full that I made the conscious decision to think, write, and feel. Feel all the feelingsy feelings that I had missed so much. I found an old training that I had attended about change management in one’s personal life and worked through some exercises; I listed my fears and how they manifest into behaviors that affect my life; I wrote a letter to Nine; and, I prayed. By the time I was done my eyes were puffy, my hand was cramped, and my spirit was light. I took the list and the letter to my fire pit, and said a prayer as I lit the whole lot aflame. It was truly freeing. And as I watched the tiny flames flicker and the embers cool to ash, I knew that what I was doing was my first true act of Love.
Since that fateful night I have been on the journey of learning how to Love myself! I am honest with myself and those around me about my feelings and needs. I make time for myself to eat, to workout, to breathe, to experience—to feel. I am silent when it feels right. I am loud when it feels right. I crack myself up. I finish my sentences, stories and thoughts when I am interrupted. I show-up and show-out in both leadership and professional settings. I wear red lipstick again. I say I love you to myself, my friends, and my family. I openly appreciate when those around me, because sometimes they are casualties of my self-love bombs. I curate the experiences that I want, with the people that I want. I’ve even discovered new TV shows! And, though I am still processing the hurt, in our limited interactions I am polite to Nine because politeness is all I care to extend. I have to work everyday at growing the Love I have for myself. I have to declare it aloud to those around me, and I have to whisper it to myself. I have to work past fear, and doubt, and “love”, and “insecurity”, and “invisibility” to grow into the me whom I want to be for the rest of my life.
Because, now I’m not just someone’s first choice—I am my first choice and I will always choose me.
-Carter
Carter is a dynamic nonprofit professional in Maryland. She is an advocate for youth and all of those who are marginalized in our society. A woman with a heart of gold, Carter is a long-time volunteer and community leader.
