I can’t stop denying my needs.
even though I have the solution.
I squeezed the steering wheel and turned my firsts. The leather squeaked underneath my hands. I closed my eyes, opened my mouth, and took in as much air as I was able. Then, with one singular burst, I pushed all the air out of my lungs and sighed. I shook my head, grasped the handle, and opened the door.
Falling out of the car, I slammed the door shut and locked the car. The car beeped, the mirrors turned in, and I began to turn inward slowly. With each step towards the doors, my head sank deeper—my gaze narrowing on the ground.
People walked by, coming and going.
Cars searched for parking spots in the lot.
I reached the doors—revolving—walking in, I shrank and went invisible. I avoided eye contact with the front desk, which would inevitably offer me a warm “Morning! Welcome back,” and I’d mumbled a timid “Hello.”
I brought my wristband to the sensor, pushed my way through the turnstile, past the rows of cardio equipment and into the gym to the small lockers. I locked my eyes on locker 720. It was my preferred locker—not because it was special, or in a good location—all the lockers were the same. I just really wanted the familiar. To control as much as I could control, trying to find even the smallest sense of safety.
I put my earbuds in, threw my keys and bag into the locker, locked it, and walked to the first area to begin my workout. I dropped down into the leg press machine. Head down. Eyes closed, I did my first warm-up. Then I got up and put the next set of weight on the machine, but not before organizing all the plates—again—for control.
Each area of the gym I went to, clean up followed. Head down and eyes closed was my default. I constructed my own world, drowned out by the silence my headphones created and making myself as physically small as possible.
I made myself a ghost in a building full of people.
A battle of wills fueled my workouts. The anger at how starved my life was for connection, and the sadness that I was so incapable of making those connections.
I held the solution, but I was too afraid.
Afraid to say hi.
Afraid to look around; make eye contact.
Afraid to take up space.
Afraid to be me.
I exist in a constant state of being on guard while in public.
I play out a childhood pattern over and over, thinking I am protecting myself from being “in trouble.” When all I’m doing is denying my fundamental human need to connect with others.
Of all the challenges I have overcome in my life and of all the pain I have been willing to endure, this one feels categorically different and more difficult.
I could write another five thousand words on exactly why that is, but the result is the same—I need to endure; I need to overcome.
I believe, wholly, that our world would look so different (for the better) if we were all more comfortable creating singular moments of connection with those we find ourselves around in our day-to-day lives.
I want you to think about the last time a stranger complimented your outfit, or did something unexpectedly kind or generous.
Do it. Right now. I want you to think about it seriously. We all have them.
Okay, now what do you feel in your body? Warmth? A sense of being seen? Fuzzy? Energized?
Exactly.
Our world needs more of that. It is a fundamental human need.
So, the time has come in my journey of self to close the gap between my worldly belief and my self-belief. I cannot keep convincing myself that I have no right to take up space. To be seen or heard. To breathe.
I must shed the belief that even the simplest exchange with a stranger will lead to punishment and harm. Or create misery in the other’s life.
It’s time to overcome.
I know I’m not alone in this, so tell me, how have you taken strides to talk to strangers?
With fear and trepidation,
-CJ
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