Go Easy On Me....

I’m not the most of up-to-date person when it comes to music. Adele’s song, “Easy on me” has been released for a few weeks, yet except for snippets on tik tok, today was the first day I heard the whole song. And wow, was it a punch in the face.  Especially the chorus:

Go easy on me, baby
I was still a child
Didn't get the chance to
Feel the world around me
I had no time to choose
What I chose to do
So go easy on me

I, as a childfree, never married woman cannot relate to Adele’s specific pain that comes from a difficult divorce. Nevertheless, her song spoke to me. As someone whose childhood and early adulthood was defined by trauma and the destructive coping mechanisms that enabled me to survive, yet at a steep cost, I often have to tell myself to go easy on younger me. I did the best I could at the time, and yet, it’s undeniable that the negative ramifications from past Naiomi’s best, continue to haunt me today.

This reality was brought to fore the past few days. I spent the weekend at a retreat with my fellow volunteers. Don’t get me wrong it was a blast. I spent time interacting  and playing games with my fellow volunteers instead of spending 90% of my time in my room, like I did during orientation. Yet, I still feel deeply disconnected from the other volunteers. Part of that, no doubt, had to do with the age gap between us. I am 31 years old and the other volunteers are in their 20s. Plus, I’m an introvert.

Yet the reality is I intentionally made choices that distanced myself from the other volunteers; from not wanting to sleep in the same area of the house (to be fair, the bathroom to people ratio of my section was perfect) to eschewing opportunities to communicate about how I was feeling.

While the other volunteers talked about their struggles adjusting to their worksite or community life, or the struggles they have with their family, I kept things very surface level. I mean, to be fair, things are going well at work and in my community, but I could have talked about the loneliness I sometimes felt, or the fear of the future as I still don’t know what I am doing in my life.  Instead, I smiled, made jokes, everything was fine. Everything is always fine.  I’m fine. I’m always fine.  

Meanwhile, my inner child is screaming because she just wants to belong and be heard. But like my family beforehand, I basically told her to shut up. Her needs are unimportant. She’s nothing but a burden. She’s too much. Why does she always insist on being heard? Why can’t she just suck it up and just deal with what life throws at her without complaining?

Growing up my family made it clear that I was too much-too loud, too opinionated, too emotional. I was too much of a burden. So, I turned to other people for the attention and love I craved. And as a result, I came on too strong: I overshared, and I was too vulnerable too quickly. I didn’t realize as a teenager and young adult that by oversharing, I was unintentionally violating the emotional boundaries of other people. So, when people rightfully recoiled and pulled away, I didn’t understand that they were trying to set boundaries to protect themselves. All I saw was rejection, again.

So, I learned to keep to myself. And just like my initial impulse to overshare was my way of coping, with my family’s rejection, my current tendency to refuse to share (well except on my blog…) is my way of protecting myself.

 I’ve learned that when I am with other people, to just keep to myself. It’s best for all of us involved if I keep a tight lid on my inner child-who simply wants to be heard, accepted, and loved. She’s no one’s problem but my own. She just needs to get over herself and grow up.

And yet, as MGMT, “Little Dark Age” reminds me, “Just know that if you hide, it doesn't go away.” I can try and suffocate my inner child into silence, but she always makes herself heard. And by trying to isolate and silence her, I make it impossible to develop connections with other people.

And as I watched this weekend as the other volunteers hung out and developed deep friendships with one another, I can’t help but wonder how things would have been different if I had been listened to, accepted, and loved as a child. Or, if as an adult, I hadn’t made some of my decisions that continue to haunt me.

 Maybe I would know how to have the appropriate balance of vulnerability and keeping to myself. Maybe I could develop deeper friendships where we can talk about our struggles instead of just sending each other the occasional memes. Maybe I wouldn’t have chosen to spend this weekend on the outside looking in.

I’m trying to have compassion for the person I was who made those decisions in the past. I’m trying to have compassion for the scared little teenager and young adult that was just trying her best to survive while trying to do and be better now.  And yet, I can’t help but feel so angry. Angry at my family for failing me. And angry at past me, because I was trying to survive but all I did was let me down.