Permission to Be (Messy & Whole)

This time two years ago I felt my internal and external world unravel. 2,031 miles from home. A sense of familiarity felt foreign. I was in the thick of unveiling the intricacies of my human experience in an intense and demanding academic program. A magnifying of self in ways I had never experienced—a facet of becoming a relational therapist.

I was stretched in ways that were enriching and often unpleasant. I inspected myself and my relationships. I turned my complex experiences into carefully constructed conceptualizations and essays. I worked. I cried. I isolated. I slept whenever I could. I studied. I ignored my needs. I survived. I existed. I did what I had to do.

There was an emptiness that sustained itself through early winter. Reflective of the conflict between the way I existed and the ways I imagined myself to exist in this world. I fought with my body’s response to the stress. I saw doctors and medical specialists each week. I learned to navigate life with an autoimmune disorder. I connected to my body in a way that felt painful, heavy, and lonely. I experienced grief. I felt disconnected. I kept doing.

To do required a degree of emotional disconnection. To do and achieve in that environment required a burial of the complexities of my felt experience. I felt a constant lump in my throat from swallowed tears. Tears from pain, disappointment, and pure exhaustion. I struggled to contain my emotional world.

I felt shame for the authentic expression of my feelings.

I felt shame for my challenge with containment.

I felt guilt for my need to be momentarily held with my mess. I had friends and family with the capacity to hold me. I allowed myself to be held. I journaled for a sense of release. I found solace in my 50-minute sessions with clients. I allowed myself to daydream. I was told my vulnerability was my superpower.

A part of me did not believe it.

My parents have helped me understand myself as a deeply feeling and deeply reflective human. I think that might be what happens when a child’s name means purpose. I’ve held the belief that my emotionality is the messiest part of myself. I learned to shift from unapologetic expression, to generalized suppression, to a more palatable way of engaging with the messiest parts of me. I adapted to the expectations of this cultural context. I thought that expectation was stupid.

At my core, I believe that our felt experience and our ability to share it is what makes us most human. That our internal and interpersonal complexities deserve to be witnessed, explored, held, and highlighted.

The mess of us makes us whole. And to be whole we must embrace our mess.

This core belief informed my intention in my 2023 notes to self number five:

Your vulnerability and emotionality is not a weakness. Feel the thing. Sink into being human. And let others be a witness. Rupture, disrupt, and reimagine a culture that tells you otherwise.

Note to self number five has been imperative to my process of unbinding. Unbinding from a process of code-switching, concealing, self-silencing, fragmenting, and denial of parts of myself that make me who I am.

Embracing my blackness. My queerness. My creativity. My analytical nature. My womanhood. My expressiveness. My observant tendencies. My sensuality. The parts of me that make me whole. I have chosen to give myself permission to be messy and to be whole.

In this life that has felt at times unbearable, often joyful, and always complicated—I’ve remained imaginative. It sustains my hopefulness and keeps me energized. In my minds eye I’ve envisioned a place to feel safe to explore the many dimensions of humanity. A space for nuance, introspection, and discovery. A place for connection and solidarity. Somewhere for us to imagine if we were whole.