Recently, in idle moments, walking from class to class I find myself thinking a lot about our concealed internal lives. Looking into the faces of my peers, some with a lightness in their eyes, others seemingly preoccupied or disheveled, others with a deliberation in the pace in their steps as if to take the world by storm. It reminds me of the sensation I get walking anonymously around the streets of Philadelphia, looking into the faces of strangers, wondering about the stories floating around in their heads.
As I make the trek up Founders, I imagine, as in my own head, a cocktail of sentiments about class and the readings I didn’t do, an encounter with a crush, what I want to eat for lunch, that test I have coming next week, how my friends are doing. Our inner dialogues are universal, but somehow unmentionable. When someone interrupts my inner monologue to say hello in passing, ask me how I’m doing, I give a programmed, “I’m good” and continue walking. I feel deflated for downplaying my feelings, but also torn by a sense of duty to present the image that I’m untroubled, put together. There’s too much to worry about to unload about my frustrations and anxieties with each acquaintance I encounter. The voice inside my head resumes the monologue, tells me it would reflect poorly on my image as an autonomous adult.
The haste with which I see myself approach my emotional life among the overload of Haverford leaves me deeply dissatisfied. It leaves me with the striking reality that what we do is more important than how we feel, or who we are. I wonder, might there a way to be authentic about our emotional lives while maintaining our privacy, aligning to a social code of conduct of not “over-sharing”? Does a space exist to be authentic about how we feel, to give ourselves the potential to greet our emotions as they come and go?
Where does the untraceable impulse within me to remain stoic, to front that I do not care, take root from? When did caring become construed as a sign of weakness? Why does it feel like admitting a terrible secret if I admit I need help or have problems I can’t solve on my own or from the help of my friends? Are you sick of reading this list of questions yet?! It seems silly that I can carve out two, three hours a day to exercise in order to take care of my physical body, but yet there is a reluctance to exercise the feelings drifting in mind.
What makes expressing what we feel weak? Why is sensitivity sublimated by a pick yourself by the bootstraps mentality? Could we instead move towards speaking to the power that vulnerability has, how rejection has cultivated resiliency, how our individual struggles do not color us in failure but instead show the proof of our growth. To make each other feel seen and heard instead of glazed over. To forge beyond the withdrawn sense of connection we grapple with as we scroll through our Facebook, twitter and instagram feeds, that only exacerbate the fragile facade of “connectedness”. Ignoring my own convictions about the symbiotic relationship between body and mind, I watch myself fall short in practicing emotional healthcare.
As human beings, we are biologically hardwired for connection. As a result, disconnection will always precipitate pain. While disconnection from ourselves and our relationships comes in waves as a part of life, if we combine this with the belief that we should somehow take the blame for our encounters with the feelings disconnection, we begin to cultivate a sense of shame. A feeling of being culpable or somehow unworthy of connection begins to emerge. We can begin to take on the belief that we are not worthy of being heard and of expressing our triumphs or struggles. The cycle of disconnection cultivates a fear of how we will be perceived no matter what we choose to share, a fear of rejection for showing a slice of who we are underneath our appearances.
What makes expressing what we feel weak? Why is sensitivity sublimated by a pick yourself by the bootstraps mentality? Could we instead move towards speaking to the power that vulnerability has, how rejection has cultivated resiliency, how our individual struggles do not color us in failure, but instead show the proof of our growth? To make each other feel seen and heard instead of glazed over. To forge beyond the withdrawn sense of connection we grapple with as we scroll through our Facebook, twitter and instagram feeds, only exacerbating the fragile facade of “connectedness”. So I beckon you, show someone you care. Look someone in the eyes. Tell someone how you feel. Try sitting with a sense of rawness, vulnerability. It’s a reminder of what makes us human.