“Here I am, surrounded by words—books I read in a day, essays I ace with minimal effort—yet I find it so hard to put together a complete sentence when it comes to something real. Maybe it's the fear. I fear that if I open this box, the words that come out will be a mess, a reflection of the chaos I call home.
See, my family is a paradox of loud silences and explosive outbursts. We communicate in a language of slammed doors and mumbled words. My attempts to have a normal conversation, to share my day or a thought, are usually met with dismissive grunts or remarks that cut the conversation short.
It's not that we don't love each other, I guess. We just don't know how to show it healthily. Affection is a foreign language, replaced by a tense standoff where everyone walks on eggshells, waiting for the next blowup.
This constant state of hypervigilance is now into every aspect of my life. I find myself holding back, not just with my family, but with everyone. Friends try to engage me in conversations, but I shut down, offering one-word replies or deflecting with a joke. Dates are a disaster – my inability to share anything personal creates an invisible wall, confusing and frustrating the people close to me.
The worst part is the loneliness. I crave connection, that deep, meaningful kind where you can be vulnerable and truly seen. But the fear is always there, a constricting force around my chest, choking back the words that yearn to be spoken.
Lately, there's been a glimpse of hope. A new girl at school, Maya. She has this way of looking at you, as if she can see right through the walls. We started talking, hesitantly at first, then with a growing sense of ease. Maybe it's because she doesn't expect some grand revelation, just a glimpse into the person behind the mask.
For the first time, I opened up to someone. It was a small thing, a silly dream I had, but the way her eyes lit up with interest, the way she asked questions and truly listened, it was a revelation. Maybe, just maybe, I can learn this – the art of vulnerability, of letting someone in. It won't be easy, but with each conversation and each shared story, the fear loosens its grip a little more. The girl hiding behind words is starting to appear, and for the first time, I believe someone might be willing to listen.”
A confessional by Myrto Papageorgiou, friend and colleague
Thank you for sharing what it feels like to start building a connection when we have little experience in feeling close in our primary family. It touched me deeply:-)
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