Negative charge

Have you ever found that no matter how pure your intentions seem, people still react adversely to whatever it is you’re trying to explain? It could potentially have something to do with this concept of being negatively charged. So although consciously our intentions seem integral, subconsciously we have an ulterior motive; we are projecting childhood insecurities through a seemingly subtle, but obvious negative charge.

This post is in response to my most recent post titled Be yourself and be okay with it. I had an awakening discussion with one of my mentors who challenged my intentions for pursuing an authentic life and encouraging others to do the same. He admitted that his desires for pursuing an authentic life and coaching others to do the same stems from years of having to suppress his true self because of the religious environment in which he was raised. And then something clicked in me. My desire to live authentically, openly, and freely is charged by the years I have had to suppress my sexuality.

Whenever I meet a girl I am potentially interested in who claims to be private or who is not open about her sexuality, my heart contracts and a subconscious tension arises within me. Instead of feeling openness in my heart, I feel charged, constricted, heavy. My intentions are not pure, but I am unaware of this reality. On the surface, I believe that my encouragement to be open and free is logical, reasonable, and desirable. But that’s not how it is perceived or received. Subconsciously, my heart panics. My heart refuses to experience the suppression that caused so much suffering throughout my childhood. So although I appear to be tolerant of my partner’s desires, there’s a subtle resentment towards them because I feel they are forcing me to become something I fiercely oppose becoming again: suppressed.

I realise and admit that my former post was negatively charged. My desires for expressing authenticity and wanting the same for others was not simply because it’s liberating and I dislike living a private life, it’s because I have an aversion to suppression. And this aversion is fuelled with emotions. Negative emotions. Because of this, it instigates barriers within others and activates their defence mechanisms. Albeit what I’m saying might make perfect sense, it is the way in which I am saying it that causes this defiance and opposition. It is the charge that is associated with these words that hinder their receptiveness.

It is also easy to detect this charge in others. There are times when people will question your actions because of a genuine desire to understand and other times when your answer will be completely irrelevant. Although there is no verbal recipe for detecting the latter, it is invariably something you will feel. No matter the answer you give, their dissatisfaction and charge will persist. At that point, it might be best to acknowledge that whatever answer you provide is irrelevant and to proceed to another topic.

So any time you find yourself feeling passionately about a particularly topic and desiring that for others, yet it seems to be creating adverse reactions - question your intentions. Question what is fuelling that passion. Why do you feel so strongly about this topic? Is it because of a preference or an aversion? The latter being associated with a negative charge. Being able to detect this within yourself will not only eradicate the charge, but it will consequently create a space of acceptance for those who willingly prefer whatever it is you oppose. And it is in that space where understanding is discovered and love is experienced. It is in this space where intimate relationships are created.

Be yourself and be okay with it

I have this phrase tattooed on me. Well, not tattooed, but I have it engraved on the dog tags that I wear all the time in remembrance of my Opa. He epitomised this phrase. He remained his quirky, stubborn, authentic self with not a care in the world for what anyone else thought. Liz Gilbert articulates this brilliantly in Big Magic, “We all spend our twenties and thirties trying so hard to be perfect, because we’re so worried about what people will think of us. Then we get into our forties and fifties, and we finally start to be free, because we decide that we don’t give a damn what anyone thinks of us. But you won’t be completely free until you reach your sixties and seventies, when you finally realize this liberating truth – nobody was ever thinking about you, anyhow.”

Being your inauthentic self is draining. You’re constantly evaluating yourself and adjusting your behaviour and speech to conform to those that you are around out of fear of not being liked. Instead of focusing on enjoying your company, you become so consumed with yourself and others’ perceptions of you, which is something you cannot control anyhow. And chances are, the people you are with are also consumed with the same thoughts because we attract what we elicit.

A large part of my heart dies whenever I see someone living inauthentically or living via their representatives. And it’s easy to recognise. These people are always “on”. Always focusing on accommodating others. Always consumed with upholding this idealistic image of themselves. Always filtering what they say, what they do, and how they might be perceived. Just talking about this is exhausting. If you find yourself acting differently around anyone in your life, you’re living a lie. When you fail to act true to yourself, you attract the “wrong” kind of people. You attract people who don’t love you for who you are. They love you for the image that you are. Or for what they think you are. Wouldn’t you rather be loved for being yourself than hated for who you are not?

I struggle when people tell me that they’re “private” individuals. What is it about your life that is so private that you cannot share with others? Is there really anything in your past that can inflict that much damage on your present? Or is it the fear that sharing such information will alter the perceptions of those closest to you? If you cannot be your authentic self because those closest to you will not accept it, then those aren’t your people. And that isn’t love. And yes, I am referring to family too. If your family cannot accept you for all that you are, they don’t really love you. They love this idea of you.

Perhaps you feel content with living your life vicariously through your representatives. Perhaps you don’t even know who the real you is anymore. Perhaps you don’t even think this is a problem that you need to fix. Perhaps you are perfectly okay with living a lie. Being a lie. Perhaps then you are okay with only experiencing mediocre love. Fake love. Superficial love. Because I assure you, being private doesn’t just affect you. It affects anyone you become involved with.

Some people might say that I am extremely fortunate because I can live a life so openly and freely and people just accept me for who I am. That is not fortunate. That is intentional. I’ve created this environment for myself. I only surround myself around those who do just that, accept me for all that I am. In my entirety. Sexuality and all. If they can’t accept me, they don’t love me. And I consciously choose not to associate with them. This may seem harsh and abrasive, but it’s not. It’s about preserving yourself and your energy. When you can’t be your beautiful, raw, authentic self because you feel you need to uphold this image of yourself, that’s wasted energy. It’s draining. Exhausting. Restricting. It’s also essentially lying.

I once was seeing someone who claimed to be a private person. At first, I accepted this. That was who she was. But then it started to affect me negatively. I had to watch what I said to friends, I had to watch the way I behaved in person, I had to essentially live a lie. And I was not comfortable with that. I’m so open that when something is good in my life, I want to share it with people. I don’t want to spend excess energy on filtering what I say or what I do, but I was unable to do that with this person. And she was unable to share me with anyone in her life. Why? I suspect out of fear of how she was going to be perceived. She feared that others might judge her, or that they wouldn’t understand, or that they wouldn’t accept her – she feared rejection of herself. So what did she do? She upheld the image she knew they would accept. She lived a lie. And I was forced to live that lie alongside her. Until I decided this was not what I wanted and that I wanted better. I wanted freedom. I wanted authenticity. And not just selectively behind closed doors. I wanted it openly. Consistently. Always.

If you find yourself having to filter what you say around your friends and family, I suspect it stems from fear. Fear of being judged or fear that what you tell them will make its way back to someone you aren’t wanting to be privy to that information. If you have these fears, these aren’t your people. Good friends don’t gossip. Nor do they judge. Instead, they accept. They understand. And they love. And in regards to the fear of an individual finding out this information, withholding this information from them means that you’re lying. You’re manipulating them. People often think that it’s out of kindness that we withhold information from others; we’re saving them the pain, but who are you to determine what will hurt someone? To determine what they can and can’t handle? Often times we lie not because we don’t want to hurt the other person, but because we fear being judged. We fear that our image will change. We fear that this victim mentality we have so clearly narrated for years and garnered support for will suddenly be dismantled and discredited. So instead, we lie. We live a lie. And we become a lie.

So I challenge all of you. If you consider yourself a private person, ask yourself why. What is it about your life that is so private you do not wish to share it with others? Or is it that you do not trust the people you are sharing it with? If it is the latter, I challenge you to ask yourself if those are the people you want to surround yourself around. People who will judge you. People who you have to be “on” around. Being your authentic self all the time is the most liberating experience you can encounter. Don’t do things to please others, do it to please yourself. Because the only person you were brought into this world to please was yourself. Being yourself is not just your birth-given right, it’s also your responsibility. The world needs more of you – the complete, unique, authentic you that is hidden under layers of images and representatives of you. So I encourage you; choose freedom, not fear.

Unbecoming to become

“This is what being broken feels like. It feels like none of your body is connected. It feels like there’s emptiness all over; holes and voids. But instead of being empty, these crevices are seared with pain, with misery, with heartache. You appear whole, but these cracks are filled with poison. Slowly, these cracks deteriorate; they decay. Slowly your body withers and inwardly decomposes. This is your heart breaking. This is the necessary process needed to recreate and regenerate yourself. But first, you must die. First you must self-destruct into nothingness. And it is from there that you must rebuild yourself. From nothing.”

I wrote this on May 23rd of last year. This was the day that I found out my ex was indeed dating the girl that I had suspicions about throughout the duration of our relationship. And ironically, it was the date of our not-to-be one year anniversary. I found out this news on Tumblr when I checked in on (stalked in modern terms) my ex. I did so only because I had an overwhelmingly strong, nauseating, and gut-wrenching feeling in my stomach – it was as though my subconscious knew something was amiss.

And so I held a metaphorical funeral. I immediately called up my friend and we went to the beach with nothing but some matches and a book. The book was titled This Is How You Lose Her by Junot Diaz. The only reason I was reading this book was because it was one of my ex’s favourites and I wanted to understand her. I wanted to love her. I wanted to learn her. All in hope that I might be able to keep her. Still. Even after she left me two months prior. I suppose I still had hope that we would one day get back together…

But in that moment, she fucked me over. And I wanted absolutely nothing to do with her or anything that remotely reminded me of her. I wanted to lose her. My heart wasn’t just broken, it was crushed. Livid. Shattered. Destroyed. My biggest fear was a reality. And worse? I knew it all along. So I decided to burn the book. I burnt it to ashes, to nothingness. And then I buried it in the sand to forget. And then I jumped all over it to ensure that it was indeed dead. And buried. And forgotten. This book was a metaphor for my heart and what she did to it. She took my heart and she crushed it into tiny little shards until it became unrecognisable. And then, she buried it. She abandoned me. Forgot about me. Ignored me. Cut me out of her life. It was as though I never meant anything to her. And to finish it all off, she gloated in victory with her new girlfriend. She destroyed whatever remnants of my heart that I had left. And so there I was. On the beach in the darkness with nothing but the memory of what was. And it was from there that I found a sense of stillness. It was there that I realised I must rebuild myself. From nothing.

After recently finishing Love Warrior by Glennon Doyle Melton, the one thing that resonated with me profoundly was this concept of “unbecoming to become”. We often believe that figuring out who we are is a process that consists of continuously figuring out who we are not and building on whoever we are presently. But who are we presently? Who are we when everything is taken away? When we have nothing to grasp onto? No one to hold onto? Nothing to hide behind? Who are we in the complete darkness of our soul? Who are we when we are staring death in the face? As Pema Chödrön eloquently states, “Only to the extent that we expose ourselves over and over to annihilation can that which is indestructible be found in us.” For some, this is when they find God. For others, this is when they find themselves.

On February 15th when I stared death in the face and contemplated taking my life, I had nothing. No one. I was completely alone. Nothing to grasp onto. Nowhere to hide. It was just me. Me and my complete and utter brokenness. My rock bottom. And this is where I found myself. But it wasn’t until the 23rd of May when my heart had been completely annihilated that I began to rebuild. I began to fill myself with nothing but love. I became strong. Empowered. Confident. Everything that I was becoming was my authentic, wholesome self. I was the hero of my own damn story and no one could take that away from me. But first, I had to die. I had to die to be born. I had to be lost to be found. I had to be empty to be complete. I had to unbecome to become.

Invariably when you come across a strong, confident individual who knows who they are, it is because they have lived the path of the spiritual warrior. The path of letting go. Of annihilation. Of pain. Of heartbreak. Of destruction. The path of awakening. The path of cool loneliness. The path of stillness, compassion, bravery. Spiritual warriors sit in the stillness of discomfort not grasping, not hiding, just letting go. When we can let go, that is when we will learn ourselves. This is known as the process of unbecoming. And it is from there that we become. It is there that we discover who we were always meant to be: a warrior and the hero of our own damn story.