My ritual of tuning out joy started when I was very young, probably quite oblivious to what I was actually doing. Like a magic formula, I made myself shut the door in its face each time joy came knocking, foolishly believing that if I pretended I did not hear anyone at the door, the panic in its wake will disappear too.
I find real connection with fellow beings to be wonderful and exciting and I look for it in every person I interact with. It is both my strength and my Achille’s heel. I don’t understand the meaning of our lives on this planet if we aren’t going to function as what we actually are: one. Connected.
There is a small voice inside that always, always knows. When we get silent, cut out the noise of other people’s standards, expectations and demands, this voice becomes loud and clear and leads you to unimaginable rainbows.
Females (again, of any species studied) don’t fight or flight. They tend and befriend. They take care of their tribe (and other tribes for that matter) and build belonging.
Being a step-parent, you get all the responsibility and very little of the title, you get to put in the work and most of the times not only not get the credit but have to sit on the sidelines and watch birth parents take the credit, even when they have absolutely nothing to do with the child’s achievements.
In an environment where change is even more the norm than it already was, where our faces are masked and our instincts of closing in on our fellow humans are restrained, criticism, delivered this way, is a handful of salt thrown on an open wound. It stings so much that any beneficial effects are completely overshadowed.