For the longest time, I have felt afraid to express my
story. I felt any story belonging to me was unimportant compared to what others
must also be experiencing. Perhaps this is why I am in the field I am in
(counseling). I am, and always have been, a listener, partly because I felt as
though my story was not as important, and expressing my story took space away
from others to express theirs. While this is beneficial for counseling, it hasn’t
suited me well in most of my personal interactions. I have learned that many
people in my life, even those whom I consider dear friends and family, do not
know me well because I have not allowed them to get to know me. This, in turn,
spiraled to the point where I lost myself. My story wasn’t important, therefore
I became unimportant, even to myself. As the spiral continued, it became a
vicious cycle. I began to project my need of importance onto others, placing
the responsibility of my importance onto them. How could they return this,
though, when I didn’t feel worthy to begin with? I think most people, in one
way or another, do this. In some way they feel unsatisfied, unworthy,
undeserving, unimportant, etc., and rely on those closest to them to fill the
void only they themselves can fill. There are different ways of doing this, of
course: some may beg for approval, while others push it away, perpetuating
judgement. It is this critical judgement of ourselves that prolongs an empty
space where we feel eternally lost.
In the last
week or so, I have learned that my story matters. That I matter. My story is
different than your story, my beliefs may be different from yours, and isn’t
that wonderful? This difference doesn’t make either story, or person,
unimportant. It makes the virtual reality we live in beautiful, amazing,
painful, and overwhelming. I think this is why I initially began this blog – To
communicate the stories that matter to me and bring meaning into my life. So,
in a roundabout way, here is my story from this past week, while I was
rediscovering parts of myself in Santa Monica, CA:
Some people
may be aware, and some may be unaware, that my partner of almost five years and
I split last month. Though the break was amicable, it was much like a divorce,
and each person was devastated. In times of acute emotional distress, I noticed
that my fight, flight, or freeze responses were engaged. I also noticed that
these responses were mirrored in the people around me who knew I was in
distress. Some were engaged to fight with and for me, some decided to flee, and
some froze, wanting to help, but not knowing how to proceed. It was truly
remarkable to see the fantastic support system I have around me. In hopes of
beginning to recover from the considerable loss I experienced in the last few
months, I flew out to California, to visit my dad, find space and clarity, and
get some time in the sun (because Utah was the new Seattle for the month of
May).
Initially,
flying alone was a strange experience for me. I believe I have only flown alone
one other time, when I was 18. Flying and traveling alone puts external validation
into some real perspective, as the only person who can validate your experiences
is you. At first this was uncomfortable, and left me feeling strangely
vulnerable. A dramatic shift happened on the way back, however, and I began to
feel comfort with my own validation.
I landed at
LAX, picked up my rental car, and entered the parking lot that is the 405.
Seriously, I will never complain about Utah drivers again. I followed my dad
into Santa Monica, and his place of employment, where the awkward
introductions began. Don’t get me wrong, it was great meeting my dad’s
colleagues, but a sense of awkwardness existed when I knew, 1. I will most
likely never see these people again; and 2. There was a sense of pride
radiating from my dad that my humility didn’t quite know how to handle. After that,
my dad, stepmom (Ana), and I walked down the 3rd Street Promenade,
and had some lunch at a delicious little Italian restaurant. I decided to rest a
while and unpack, while Ana went to the grocery store. When she and my dad
returned, we decided to catch a movie (Pitch Perfect 2) at a dine-in theatre.
Each seat was your own personal recliner, dinner was served to you, and they
had a full bar you could order from (aca-believe it). Color me sold!
Third Street Promenade
The
following day was spent catching up with my step-sister, Bianca, and meeting
her adorable daughter, Baylani. I love how unfiltered and innocent children can
be. We spent a lot of time at the beach (hello, sunburn), and then Ana and I
walked up and down the Santa Monica Pier. That evening we went to the Hollywood
Improv, where Damon Wayans Jr. was part of the line up (a.k.a Coach from New
Girl). He was hilarious, and I was definitely a little star struck. After
grabbing some oreo cheesecake from a local bakery, I chalked that day up to a
total win.
The next
day, Thursday, was a special day for me, as I was able to visit my Aunt Tonya
in her now home town of Carpinteria on her birthday. Carp is a tiny town 10
minutes South of Santa Barbara, with only three stoplights and incredibly
friendly people. We often said she lives in paradise, as she has the beach on
one end, and mountains on the other. We ate lunch next to the beach, walked
around the small town, visited a peaceful, local beach (more sunburn), wandered
around a serene import store called The Sacred Space (the Dalai Lama had even
been, and they roped off the chair where he sat!), and tasted delectable Indian
food in Santa Barbara. It was a wonderful day spent with an amazing woman.
After returning back to Santa Monica, my dad and I spent a great deal of time
talking and bonding.
Throughout
our talk the previous night, dad and I decided to have a daddy/daughter day at
Universal Studios, since the park was so close to Santa Monica. However, before
we left, I received a paining phone call: my grandfather, the man who was a
force to be reckoned with, had passed away that morning. If these losses have taught
me anything, it’s to freely express emotions I used to repress. So, I cried. To
be perfectly honest, I have probably cried more in the last nine months than I
have in my entire life. I used to be the person to hold it all in until the
straw broke the dam (and usually the straw was some sort of physical pain the
emotional pain could be released through). Now, while crying can be exhausting,
it’s also incredibly freeing, and I don’t think I could revert, nor would I
want to. Dad and I decided to go to Universal Studios anyway, because what
could we do being in California? I had an absolute blast with my dad, and felt
myself find some peace while riding adrenaline rushing rides.
Harry Potter World is coming! Squee!
I prepared
for my flight home the next day, and took one last trip down the 3rd
Street Promenade where numerous street musicians and entertainers were playing.
Most everyone has experienced the chaos that can occur with personal silence;
but in that particular moment, I found personal silence within the chaos. It
was a beautiful thing. I learned many things from my trip, and came to a few
realizations that I intend to carry with me:
- I am important, and my story matters.
- No one else knows my story, and I will never know theirs.
- I am only part of someone’s story, and that part is their version of me. Likewise, people are part of my story, and that is my version of them.
- Looking inward will grant me the answers I need.
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