Baby, you were born this way.

Sometimes in life, we experience a trauma that causes us to get stuck in some developmental stage. Or, we are born a certain way, and taught very early on that it is not ok to be ourselves.
At that moment, we hide our true natures in a safe, but hidden place inside and begin to develop an alter ego. We do our best to grow up like everyone else. We hide that part of ourselves that we learned to be ashamed of so that people will accept us. That part doesn’t age along with the rest of us.
Sometimes it means constantly putting on a show so that the world is too distracted to see beyond the front. It means jumping through every hoop that the world puts in front of us so that it will never catch on that we are not who we say we are, that we are damaged. It means closeting our feelings so as not to make others uncomfortable, even if it means living in a state of unending discomfort. It’s exhausting.
Eventually, we meet someone who we think can handle seeing us as we really are. We think that they might have the kind of unconditional love that would not try to change or condemn who are.
We dare to let that malnourished, scared, vulnerable inner-child who has rarely seen the light of day finally step into the spotlight. All of our armor, the stuff that has protected us and allowed us to grow up and succeed in society, to act like everyone else, is suddenly gone and we are defenseless, raw, exposed.
But we are also relieved. Our breathing drops into our belly, the constant mental chatter in our minds ceases and we are fully present in the moment. Something that has been holding on inside us forever finally lets go.
And sometimes, we pick the wrong person. And now, that sacred and fragile inner-child, who was just moments ago so happy to finally be out of the closet, is now along, out in the world, with no protection.
And the person does not even understand what they have done because they are too blind to realize that they have just seen a glimpse of who we are, of our light. And, they begin to scold and belittle and shame the child, just like the people who had originally caused us to run into the closet in the first place.
I am a person that has been diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder, after being diagnosed with everything else. From the beginning of my life, I have felt emotions much stronger than the average person. I am naturally impulsive and I have an over-abundance of energy that needs to be expressed. And from the very beginning, this has been discouraged and often punished. It is different from childhood exuberance and precociousness. It is much deeper than that and it doesn’t go away.
But I learned to closet it. To dampen it so I wasn’t too loud or emotional or impulsive. Every time I would get like that, someone would yank the reigns so I learned to be ashamed of it. Eveventually, I learned to yank my own reigns. I got really good at it.
But as you get older, that part of you gets restless and harder to control. The ruse becomes harder to keep up. I used self-criticism, perfectionism, and self-medication—any tool I could to keep myself hidden, and combat the anxiety that came with it.
In my life, I have chosen a select few people to see this side of me that has been yearning for air. I have chosen wrong. And then, I have felt like Wile E. Coyote when he runs off the cliff, just before he plummets.
In the past, I have run back home, back to the people who love me so so so much because I am their baby, but who were the first people who were scared and misunderstanding of the kind of emotion I was capable of, of my hypersensitivity to the world. They didn't know what to do with me, so they took me to doctors until they gave me a diagnosis that could explain why I was different. Then it could become someone else’s problem.
This diagnosis would give them leverage to rationalize any behavior that seemed out of the norm to them. And it would give me a reason to be terrified of the destruction that I was supposedly capable of, or getting misunderstood with dire consequences again.
This time, that is not going to happen. That inner-child is out and completely standing alone for the first time. She isn’t surrounded by teachers or doctors who understand her condition, and can protect her from people who don’t understand. She’s weak and fragile and scared, but she’s out and she’s staying out.

But this time, she will be ok.

I have realized that the only person who can really nourish her and give her the permission and strength to let her true self shine, is me.
I’m finally in the epicenter of self-expression. A place where people cannot only make a living from their hypersensitivity, but can inspire feelings in others that they didn’t even know they were there.
It’s a gauntlet, with wolves and cannibals around every turn ready to take advantage of your heart and your light, but getting through is worth it if you can make it to the other side.
Let the games begin…