Ever since I can remember, there’s this feeling sometimes that I exist as a held breath. Something just above the surface, that won’t disrupt the balance and way of things. That can fit whenever she wishes, blend in any background, uplift everyone she comes near. Someone that never truly lets herself go.
There this inherent shame, this anxiety to being, this permanent, silly, tiny idea that I might be doing it the wrong way, which is incredibly dumb to think when you glance at the big scheme of things. Isn’t it all a matter of perspective? In the end, we’re all humans figuring out, aren’t we? Still, the emphasis is on the wrong part, and in another poisonous word: too; the word that measures me up and down and that I allow to reaffirm all my darkest insecurities and fears.
You’re too emotional, too sensitive, too pessimistic, too clingy, too insecure, too two-faced, too confused, too naïve, too quiet, too loud. This too holds such weight; it’s not a closed fist, rather a palm with its fingers outstretched, pressing down on my chest until it buries me. Too can never be good, can it? No, no one has ever meant it, spoke it in a way that could mean a good thing. The further I sink, the more I want to apologize to everyone, or no one in particular, for the things that I can’t seem to become, and all the worst ones I might turn to. For the discomfort, any irritation or confusion. It just makes me feel wrong, and that is a deeply isolating feeling. It leaves you nowhere, no one to turn to but within. I become hesitant, a stray cat that simply glances at a hand that only wishes to caress him. I’m the problem.
There’s a rift between what I am and what I’m supposed to be, a huge question mark. All the self-doubt bugs my eternal system, whatever runs the code inside our brains of how we’re supposed to react, talk, feel. It makes me doubt, if I am not lying to everyone else, if I’m being true to myself and others, if it’s possible to be both and all at the same time, if I don’t have to choose. If I am being authentic and pleasant. If I am being either fun or inspirational. If I am being quiet and supportive. If I am being normal or extraordinary. Like a cat with its claws, digging the earth, I build a hole so I can try and glance from above.
Knowing yourself isn’t easy. There isn’t a recipe you can follow line by line, with exact measurements. It takes a lot of trial and error, and, I’m learning, compassion and patience. Space, not necessarily physical. But for so long, I thought I knew myself by taking personality tests and jotting down the results, like the path to a treasure. I drew lines in the sand after every negative interaction, because those are so much more memorable than the positive ones aren’t they?, and created limits I couldn’t cross. You can be exited, but you can’t be too loud, that’s embarrassing. You can’t sound too sweet or cute, that’s weird, but you can’t be too much of a downer or too quiet, otherwise people will believe something is wrong. There needs to be order in how you present yourself to the world.
It’s a constant jigsaw. Who even said that? Living this way, walking on a wire, brings you more pain than happiness, and no matter how intense the later might be, it is always short-lived. It leaves you offended at comments that you consider small, tiny, insignificant — and that should feel that way, although they don’t. It leaves you confused, replaying interactions and analysing them from all possible angles, trying to find the hidden clues and 100 different ways to read the room, and to change yourself so you can bash in the pride of how you got the message. You’ve built a house on a landslide, with broken bricks. you tried so hard, only to now live by trying not to fall apart with every wind, or touch. You know all the things to do, but not the ones to be.
Here’s the bottom line: authenticity happens when you no longer try. Being true to yourself is all about letting go. Being too little or too much, it doesn’t matter, because you’re yourself in the rawest of ways when you do neither. When you just… are. When you let go of the chains you’ve locked yourself in, when you stop trying so damn hard — mostly to accommodate others, even those you love, and stop trying to keep whatever image, reputation, whatever it is you feel you must honor.
Obviously this isn’t some sort of manifesto for you to go out of your way to create trouble — but if that’s what your heart desires, as long as no one gets hurt too bad, go ahead! I just think those that built their identity and personality not from within have to give themselves some slack to… figure themselves out, and stop worrying so much about the aftermath and underlining meanings. It’s all an attempt at predicting and controlling everything, including what others think, feel, say about us — which, much to my discontent, will forever be impossible to fully control. It isn’t our responsibility to predict and safeguard what other’s will feel. The burden of their expectations is not one you should have to carry so solemnly It isn’t just that we’re works in progress, that we don’t know ourselves: is that we started the whole project already thinking we’d fail it, we’d disappoint and let people down, and that we must make up for it with something, to whoever we feel we’ve wronged by being ourselves, and not being us. It’s confusing, it makes little sense, and that’s the whole point.
Being yourself shouldn’t be an evil thing, or a source of anxiety, or so hard. It should be freeing, it needs to liberate us somehow. All the versions and colours of you can coexist, and you won’t be any less original, or true, or you. You are whatever you allow yourself to be. It’s easier said than done, but let us stop caring so much how we look to others, and focus a bit more on how natural it feels to be who we are. Loud. Introverted. Too excited. Easily irritable. Lovers of country and heavy metal and everything pink and cheese nachos. Whatever mix you are, own it. You don’t have to do anything else but be.
Thank you for reading delicate this week. Here, the weather is a menace, rain showers have flooded entire streets and the sun barely comes out to greet us. I hope it’s better whenever you are.
delicacies of the week
I recently started watching ‘Cheer Up’, and I cannot verbally explain how much I’ve been loving it.
It’s a campus slice-of-life romance about a cheerleading squad with a dash of mystery (a murder prophecy!!). The main character is quite charming, just my type, and the overall easy-going ambience is much welcomes (especially when I promised myself to only watch it while cycling in my indoor bike). Runtime of each episode is 1 hour on average.
This side to side profile is so mesmerizing to me, I couldn’t help sharing it with you. So beautiful. I’d love to wear this suit myself, in another life where I’ll be able to afford it.
By the time this letter is out, Midnights has been released everywhere. Sound wise I consider it a mix of the past two albums with a more mature and pop-sounding instrumentals. Not a favourite, but I’ll probably keep listening diligently as time goes by. Swift rarely ever misses.
I can say that based on first impressions, my favourites are ‘Lavender Haze’, ‘Anti-Hero’, ‘Bejeweled’, ‘Labyrinth’ (The Archer’s little sister) and ‘Sweet Nothing’.
Carly’s new album is also out, and I like it. Groovy in the way only Jepsen’s music can be, the deluxe tracks were my favourite.
SONGS OF THE WEEK: labyrinth - taylor swift, western wind - carly rae jepsen and slipping through my fingers - abba || delicate’s spotify playlist!