Learning to feel like I am enough
"Perhaps, then, safety starts from within, by embodying the belief that I am enough, and by thanking myself for telling me what I need."
Dear fellow human,
This morning I sat with Andrew on the sofa as we talked at length about art, creativity, and capitalism. You’d think it’s a slow weekend morning, but no - it’s Thursday before work and instead of eating breakfast we found ourselves lost in conversation. I was deeply engrossed, but forty minutes in I found myself wavering. My eyes started to involuntarily blur, my mind started to wander more than usual, my brain started to feel fuzzy, and I started to resist eye contact. Before I could think, the words ‘I think I’m starting to burn out of this conversation now’ came out of my mouth. What Andrew did in response made me cry.
Getting up from the sofa and leaving the room to go upstairs to start work, Andrew calmly said ‘thank you for telling me’.
Thank you for telling me.
I don’t think there is a more validating response. No judgment. No questioning. No analysis. No defensiveness.
Just respect, acknowledgement, and appreciation.
I sat there in shock for a while. The familiar sensation of tears welling up inside of me grew as my eyes started to tingle. ‘Thank you for telling me’, I muttered under my breathe.
It got me thinking about the ways in which I fear communicating my needs to others. The fear of being seen as rude, or melodramatic, or incapable. The fear of admitting to myself that I only feel of value when I am pushing through my limits. The fear of people walking away. These fears are valid. They came from somewhere; from the micro-moments of rejection over a lifetime, the times where ‘Thank you for telling me’ were replaced with someone pulling a face, making fun of me, or walking away.
Andrew’s words make me feel seen and understood and validated. But most of all, upon reflection, they make me feel like I am enough.
When I need to cut a conversation short because I am feeling overstimulated, I am enough.
When I need to leave the supermarket because it’s unexpectedly busy, and loud, and bright, and I need to get food delivered to my house instead, I am enough.
When I need to leave the wedding early because I’m at my limit, I am enough.
When I need to disengage from the group conversation and sit with Alfie quietly, I am enough.
When I need to cancel my plans for the day and sit quietly in solitude, I am enough.
I am working towards embodying the fact that my belief that I am enough is where it all starts. Other people’s reactions are not my responsibility; they do not dictate whether or not I am indeed enough.
This reflection feels so true when I sit here and write to you now. And I feel so grateful to feel safe enough to practice with Andrew. But it is a shift that takes time, and energy, and courage. Unlearning my beliefs that I need to push through, shape-shift, and accommodate other people at all times is not something that is going to happen over night. It’s also not something that may ever be possible with people I don’t feel safe with. In some instances it may feel too risky to communicate my needs openly and honestly.
This is the other part of the story. Learning who to trust, and learning when to just walk away. I can know that I am enough, and at the same time I can accept that not everyone will be able to see that. My priority is safety, and safety is not promised. I hope to communicate openly and honestly with those I trust, and accept that walking away where my presence is not valued, where I do not feel safe, and where I feel I cannot openly have the needs I have, is another way of proving to myself that, yes - I am enough.
I think in order to communicate my needs to people I trust, I also need to communicate my needs to myself. This entails dissolving the internalised ableism, re-writing the belief that I don’t need for much, and pausing to think about how I want to be held in this world - by myself and by people in community with me. Perhaps instead of jumping to self-criticism when my needs feel overwhelming I can welcome them, sit with them, and lead with ‘thank you for telling me’.
‘I need to cut this conversation short because I am feeling overstimulated.’
Thank you for telling me.
‘I need to leave this supermarket because it’s unexpectedly busy, and loud, and bright, and I need to get food delivered to my house instead.’
Thank you for telling me.
‘I need to leave this wedding early because I’m at my limit.’
Thank you for telling me.
‘I need to disengage from this group conversation and sit with Alfie quietly.’
Thank you for telling me.
‘I need to cancel my plans for the day and sit quietly in solitude.’
Thank you for telling me.
Perhaps, then, safety starts from within, by embodying the belief that I am enough, and by thanking myself for telling me what I need.
Sending you so much love,
Charlie ♡
How is it your words always reach me at exactly the right time? It’s getting ridiculous. This is beautiful and wise and all of the good things. I’m so glad you and Andrew found each other. I’m so glad I found you. I find myself getting my husband to read your words as an explanation for my feelings more and more. “This!” I yell excitedly, flailing my iPhone in his general direction and on the verge of tears again because someone has written how I feel. “This, please read this, she is saying how I feel!” I’m a writer myself but can never put my feelings and needs into words in the way you do it. Thank you. And thank you for telling me 😊🧡
Yes ❤️ I’m just accepting that feeling safe is a place that exists within me and from that place I can choose how and when to engage. I think it’s wild that is new news to me and I love this piece of news. ‘Safety starts from within’. I love that sentence too. Thank you. Let’s quietly resist the people pleaser parts ❤️ Now to find and make friends with that resistor 😁