If you really knew me
you would know...
I facilitated a retreat a number of years back and part of the weekend involved an open mic situation with this prompt, “If you really knew me, you would know…”
The group had been together for a couple days and created a good amount of trust. It felt like holy ground to watch person after person after person take a turn at the microphone and name something true.
Do you ever feel like there are knowings that sit/hide/sleep/live in your body, longing for someone to bear witness to them?
Whether it’s you really seeing and feeling it, or it’s another trusted person who mirrors back what they’re hearing, I struggle to find the words as to why this is so powerful.
Is it because so much of the human experience is lived in emotional isolation where we armor up and protect ourselves while we drown in all the things left unsaid?
Does it ever bother you that we often act like everything is okay when it isn’t?
When I was younger, I remember walking around wondering if everyone else was as confused as I was. Surely, they also have no idea what they’re doing. But why aren’t we talking about it?! Why does everyone pretend they’re fine?
Or maybe it’s profound to have someone see the real us because in a capitalist white dominant culture vibe, we’re too busy keeping up with ridiculously high expectations to carve out much time for rest and quiet and true knowing.
It’s hard to gently drop into my body when my calendar is packed.
It’s tricky to listen to a loved one with ease when my alarm is about to remind me of my next task.
All I know is how the air crackles with palpable love when someone sits across from me and quietly shares something real.
Then I get to gently lean in and deeply honor the thing they finally allowed to live outside their body.
And oh, that’s where the transformation gets real.
If you really knew me, you would know…
My daughter is wrapping up a fantastic year of 7th grade at a school designed just for her. After a rough 6th grade transition, we’re all delighting in the joy of it all.
My son loves viola and it’s shocking us all. He picks it up to play on his own. He’s planning to play again for 5th grade. It’s so fun to hear him play an instrument that none of us musicians in the family know how to play.
I hold a lot of stories about this season of life close to my heart. And that’s hard for me sometimes. My brain is wired for vulnerability, transparency, honesty. Autistic brains don’t handle pretense well. It feels like I’m lying when I keep something to myself. Which is weird, when I know it’s perfectly healthy to hold those boundaries.
I’m working with my therapist on a few specific things. I’m watching my nervous system lay down new neural track around patterns that used to feel impossible to interrupt. I feel giddy watching patterns heal.
My husband and I celebrate TWENTY years of marriage this month. I’m proud of us for making it this far. Neurodivergent marriage isn’t easy to decipher, but we’re slowly sorting it out.
I find a lot of joy in interrupting white dominant culture norms. It’s so freeing to realize all these stories we inherited about “the way things are” are far more flimsy and fragile than we first thought.
It’s mind boggling how many neurodivergent people keep coming into my life. Seriously. Like a moth to a flame.
I love watching Caitlin Clark and the Indiana Fever play basketball. And now, by extension, the Indiana Pacers.
After a long chapter of disassociating from food a bit due to autistic burnout, I’m starting to enjoy cooking and baking again. Yesssssss.
It’s time for another sign making party for the June 14 protest. I love saving sign ideas on Pinterest. I have a massive pile of cardboard just for all the signs that need made.
I faced a number of OCD loops and rituals on our Memorial Day camping trip to Newport Beach in Oregon. I got to experience more joy and presence because I wasn’t wrapped up in panic and fear and checking rituals. Win!
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Know someone who shows up with courage and honesty? Consider sharing this with them. We could all use some extra love!
The Thread is a weekly-ish newsletter where we untangle the stories that make us who we are so we can show up to our lives with spacious presence, brave honesty, radical love & wild curiosity.
Jenny, this comment hit me between the eyes: “It feels like I’m lying when I keep something to myself. Which is weird, when I know it’s perfectly healthy to hold those boundaries.” Thank you. ❤️
Deep reflection, Jenny. The inner world takes time and attention..and the world is the better for it. We weave through the chaos with Grace.