About a year or two ago, I asked my therapist, “Is everything about me wrong?” Is the answer to every relational hiccup “Amanda must fix and heal and be better?” As I said the words out loud, the pain and stinging in my stomach pushed to the surface. All my life, just as you so heartbreakingly described, the answer has been Amanda must repent and improve (and of course, hide).
The only thing that started to chink away at this long-established coping mechanism was reading about how autistic people are pushed to normalize, especially children through ABA therapy. Once I began walking myself through everything ABA would have asked of me (if I had been diagnosed in childhood), I began piecing together that church and a mutual obsession with psychology and self help books were my own attempts at self-normalizing. Looking back pretty much all of my talk therapy in my 20s was handled through the same lens. 😑 Now whenever I meet a young person who suspects they might be on the spectrum, I tell them firmly: the self help book section is not written for your brain. So don’t be surprised if it only makes you feel even more lousy.
Thank you for writing this and taking some more bricks down. It’s so much better to be in the sunshine together. ☀️
Wow, Anastasia, every time I read one of your posts I am amazed at how, in spite of us living very different lives from each other, the ways that you describe the impacts of your experiences - how they have shaped and wounded you - resonate so deeply. Especially in this one, even the analogies and metaphors you use are some of the same ones I have used to try to make sense of my life, and to understand myself. And many of your coping mechanisms are similar, too. When you describe that brick wall that is not a castle, your yearning for those wide-open spaces, your efforts to be who your critics want you to be, being afraid of everyone, just to name a few of the things you've described, I feel so familiar with what you're describing, and it is mind-boggling to me how much lives that look so different from each other on the surface can impact us in ways that feel like they have all come from the same place. To me, this is a profoundly healing experience, and it helps me feel less alone in the world. Thank you for that. 💚🙂🙏🏼
Thank you so much for sharing another beautiful piece! So much of your path resonates deeply and I feel seen every time I read you. Thank you for these gifts! 🩷🩷
I grew up with and still spend time around a mother similar to yours and I’ve spent so many years trying to figure it all out and I’m still an 8 year old in so many ways (I’m 46).
I have the same walls. I hide too. I give myself away to people who don’t want to see me and I hide from the ones that might actually care. Reminding myself that I’m okay, as is, has been huge!
I feel your words deep in my heart and I’m sending you a lot of love. Thank you 🩷🩷🩷
I don’t know if this comes out of left field as a comment, but so much of what we fear in other people or expect of ourselves is complete nonsense. I’m making a sort of newsletter of my year, to send out to all the relatives and friends I’ve slowly stopped writing to. It’ll be an easy way to get back into contact with people I’m scared of explaining myself to, because I can’t really apologize for not having the energy to keep up with them when I’m not sorry and when I know that I’ll likely need to take breaks again anyway. But I worried back and forth that this was a wrong way to do it--- that it would be vain to tell them about what art excited me and what art I had done, and to map out my little life plans. Isn’t it bragging? After reflection I realized I was just scared that they would misunderstand me. That they wouldn’t get I was trying to share the person I’m trying to be, and, through all the things I’ve done and thought worth remembering, the person I’ve been. I’ve trapped myself in a tiny box before so I think it’s all right for me risk being too loud as I tell my family what I’m up too. I spent years cutting myself off of from people trying to fix myself. But during those years, wasn’t I just a person? What had I done wrong? Isn’t that version of me still worth knowing? So I’m going to send my aunts and uncles my little newsletter of the things I’ve been sculpting, the cat I’m thinking of adopting, and the yearbook photos I’ve been taking (even though I’m not in yearbook) and to let them make their own judgements.
My comments are inevitably a bit random, but this is what your post (another good one) resonated with in my life.
Hi. I’ve been a silent reader, but this touched me so much that I had to leave a comment. Your story resonated with me. Having a narcissistic Mother was complicated and extremely difficult to navigate as an adult with healthy boundaries. She, my Mother, is a big self-help fan too. I used to read all the books she had finished reading. Whenever my Mother and I argue, somehow all the lessons on self-limiting beliefs and positive affirmation I learnt were erased from my head. I could never apply them in my relationship with her. She is different, a species from another universe that I just can’t seem to understand or please. It’s ok, I tell myself -- my Mother exists so I can too. Thank you so much for making me feel less lonely.
My mum is the same as yours except I am still living with her. I have been spending years to get myself to who I really am but it is still a ongoing process.
You may want to look into Bryon Katie as well. I find her work to be quite useful :)
About a year or two ago, I asked my therapist, “Is everything about me wrong?” Is the answer to every relational hiccup “Amanda must fix and heal and be better?” As I said the words out loud, the pain and stinging in my stomach pushed to the surface. All my life, just as you so heartbreakingly described, the answer has been Amanda must repent and improve (and of course, hide).
The only thing that started to chink away at this long-established coping mechanism was reading about how autistic people are pushed to normalize, especially children through ABA therapy. Once I began walking myself through everything ABA would have asked of me (if I had been diagnosed in childhood), I began piecing together that church and a mutual obsession with psychology and self help books were my own attempts at self-normalizing. Looking back pretty much all of my talk therapy in my 20s was handled through the same lens. 😑 Now whenever I meet a young person who suspects they might be on the spectrum, I tell them firmly: the self help book section is not written for your brain. So don’t be surprised if it only makes you feel even more lousy.
Thank you for writing this and taking some more bricks down. It’s so much better to be in the sunshine together. ☀️
Wow, Anastasia, every time I read one of your posts I am amazed at how, in spite of us living very different lives from each other, the ways that you describe the impacts of your experiences - how they have shaped and wounded you - resonate so deeply. Especially in this one, even the analogies and metaphors you use are some of the same ones I have used to try to make sense of my life, and to understand myself. And many of your coping mechanisms are similar, too. When you describe that brick wall that is not a castle, your yearning for those wide-open spaces, your efforts to be who your critics want you to be, being afraid of everyone, just to name a few of the things you've described, I feel so familiar with what you're describing, and it is mind-boggling to me how much lives that look so different from each other on the surface can impact us in ways that feel like they have all come from the same place. To me, this is a profoundly healing experience, and it helps me feel less alone in the world. Thank you for that. 💚🙂🙏🏼
Thank you so much for sharing another beautiful piece! So much of your path resonates deeply and I feel seen every time I read you. Thank you for these gifts! 🩷🩷
I grew up with and still spend time around a mother similar to yours and I’ve spent so many years trying to figure it all out and I’m still an 8 year old in so many ways (I’m 46).
I have the same walls. I hide too. I give myself away to people who don’t want to see me and I hide from the ones that might actually care. Reminding myself that I’m okay, as is, has been huge!
I feel your words deep in my heart and I’m sending you a lot of love. Thank you 🩷🩷🩷
Love love love everything you write 💕
I don’t know if this comes out of left field as a comment, but so much of what we fear in other people or expect of ourselves is complete nonsense. I’m making a sort of newsletter of my year, to send out to all the relatives and friends I’ve slowly stopped writing to. It’ll be an easy way to get back into contact with people I’m scared of explaining myself to, because I can’t really apologize for not having the energy to keep up with them when I’m not sorry and when I know that I’ll likely need to take breaks again anyway. But I worried back and forth that this was a wrong way to do it--- that it would be vain to tell them about what art excited me and what art I had done, and to map out my little life plans. Isn’t it bragging? After reflection I realized I was just scared that they would misunderstand me. That they wouldn’t get I was trying to share the person I’m trying to be, and, through all the things I’ve done and thought worth remembering, the person I’ve been. I’ve trapped myself in a tiny box before so I think it’s all right for me risk being too loud as I tell my family what I’m up too. I spent years cutting myself off of from people trying to fix myself. But during those years, wasn’t I just a person? What had I done wrong? Isn’t that version of me still worth knowing? So I’m going to send my aunts and uncles my little newsletter of the things I’ve been sculpting, the cat I’m thinking of adopting, and the yearbook photos I’ve been taking (even though I’m not in yearbook) and to let them make their own judgements.
My comments are inevitably a bit random, but this is what your post (another good one) resonated with in my life.
Hi. I’ve been a silent reader, but this touched me so much that I had to leave a comment. Your story resonated with me. Having a narcissistic Mother was complicated and extremely difficult to navigate as an adult with healthy boundaries. She, my Mother, is a big self-help fan too. I used to read all the books she had finished reading. Whenever my Mother and I argue, somehow all the lessons on self-limiting beliefs and positive affirmation I learnt were erased from my head. I could never apply them in my relationship with her. She is different, a species from another universe that I just can’t seem to understand or please. It’s ok, I tell myself -- my Mother exists so I can too. Thank you so much for making me feel less lonely.
My mum is the same as yours except I am still living with her. I have been spending years to get myself to who I really am but it is still a ongoing process.
You may want to look into Bryon Katie as well. I find her work to be quite useful :)