Learning about Own Self is A Beautiful yet Scary Journey

Imagine living with a person for decades and finally realize: you don’t really know this person you’ve been living with. You might already know how it feels, some of you might experience it with your own spouse, your Mom, your Dad, your child, your friend.

One day, someone or something told you that person that is so close in your heart and soul is having thoughts that you can’t imagine exists. That person holds a secret you can’t believe. You need to stop yourselves, think again what does it mean for you? For that person? For your relationship with each other?

Would you still want to be with that person, say, if that person likes a music you can’t even listen to? Or if that person pro choice? If that person converts his or her belief?

That’s what I’ve been feeling with myself lately. With this woman, Amanda. I’ve been trying to rekindle myself with her body I’ve been living in, her voice I’ve been using, her thoughts I’ve been having, her problems I’ve been dwelling in, her jokes I’ve been amused from, her stories that I’ve been listening to since I was a baby.

I always know that I’ve been dragging her burdens behind me, wherever I go. I know it’s there, but I’m not brave enough or strong enough to admit the elephant in the room. I put her aside. I need to deal with the real world, first. Always need to deal with money and what people think about me. We need to be an adult and face it. No time to cry, Amanda. Progress is what we need to make. Progress to show. With your better hair, better skin, better job, better weight. You need to make that instead of crying, Amanda.

But the wound is starting to rot inside her, and it’s rotting inside me also.

That burdens and wounds made me angrier than I should, lonelier that I could stand, and it influences how I deal with many things in life.

So I’ve been trying to learn about her more and more since this early year. The snack she likes, what makes her heart sings, and what makes her actually sing (answer: cooking alone in the kitchen).

And though there are many beautiful and cute things I found along the way, I found some painful things too. There are wounds from others, but the most severe wound is the one I, myself, inflicted on me, on Amanda.

I traced them, one by one, and thinking about the cause of the mental wounds that I have: that harsh words I slammed on my own face when I failed on something. The shames I felt with the body of mine, the voice of mine, my weakness.

It’s not an easy journey, but it’s a fruitful one. And since the greatest relationship I ever had with other people is the one that never let go even things are hard, I think I owe myself the same kind of relationship.