dearestcreature

I’ve been thinking over this topic for a couple of days now, trying to figure out how to put these questions into writing. I’ve also been trying to trace this habit of mine into childhood. 

It wasn’t difficult. (hello, Si.) 

My mother is an ISFJ. My mother is a very important figure in my life. I love her and who she is. She is strong. She worked and still works so hard for the family every single fucking day. She’s known me for 29 years. She knows me. She knows my habits. But I don’t think she really understands me. She never really has. MBTI helped me with this so much. It helped me come to terms with her not understanding. Because now I know why. And knowing why is good enough. I can work with it, even though that feeling of resignation rears its head at me every now and again. With the occasional spikes of irritation. 

But let’s get back on topic. 

You know those sayings your parents use on you when you were a kid? Little life lessons packaged into a cute concise sentence. “Don’t make excuses” was one of my mom’s favorites. It never failed to silence me. 

The other one she liked to use on me wasn’t a command though. It was a question. “Why didn’t you ask for help?”  

Something so simple. Why was it so hard for me to do? 

I remember my frustration clearly every time she asked me. Not necessarily with her, but with myself. Even I didn’t know why I couldn’t just ask. I mean, I was very shy back then. Maybe even cripplingly so. But I had enough sense to realize how much easier the situation could have turned out if only I had asked. 

Maybe I was afraid of bothering others. Of inconveniencing them. 

Maybe I just didn’t know how. Could have been pride, too. I am guilty of that “I can do this on my own” mentality. 

OR MAYBE. I didn’t know HOW to ask for help. I didn’t trust my own voice. 

Actually, looking back, I believe it’s a combination of all these things. 

OH HEY. Could this be an example of an INFP caught in a Fi/Si loop of doom (and gloom)??  Fi > tells me that I don’t /need/ to ask anyone for help because, girl, it’s us against all of them. We can handle this on our own. We don’t need them. Si > supports this notion because LOOK AT WHAT HAPPENED THE LAST TIME YOU OPENED YOUR GD MOUTH, STACY. “Don’t make excuses.” Rinse, repeat. 

Anyone care to weigh in on this?

1. This is my first Tumblr post. I know how to reblog shit and sneak in comments in the tags. That stuff is easy. That stuff is comfortable. But writing out my thoughts and feelings? Now that’s uneasy. That’s uncomfortable. It’s a level of vulnerability I’ve never been ok with. Hell, I’ve never even kept a diary. How do I even know I’ll keep this up? I don’t. 

2. I like to believe I’m a healthy INFP. Developed. I have my shit together for the most part. I like to believe I’ve come a long way. But fuck, I can do better. I can be better. So many times I catch myself thinking the bitchiest things. I can be petty as fuck. And when I do catch myself it’s this instant “WHO ARE YOU???” I have to face. 

3. What are friends? What is friendship? Like, I know how to be one in THEORY, but in practice my knowledge doesn’t reflect. I’m distant, I’m hard to reach. The very thought of having a “best friend” repulses me but I think it’s because it makes me fearful. Have you guys heard of attachment theory? Look into it. I 100% fall into the fearful-avoidant spectrum. Not necessarily as bad as articles will depict it, but the basis is there.

3b. When I do flip the switch, when I allow my affection or excitability to show, it’s because the trust is there. But the moment I feel something off, even slightly, I retract soooo fast. It’s hilarious. (no it isn’t) 

4. Why do I hold the grudges that I do? Why. WHY AM I SO PETTY. My Fi is whispering malice in my ears. Poison, not wine. This is why. Fucking Fi doms, man. 

5. Well, you say all this. You recognize your short comings. WHAT ARE YOU GONNA DO ABOUT IT? Hmmm? What. Goddamn inferior Te. Knowing me - and I do know me, which is something - I’ll just let this simmer here. I got this all off my chest. That’s a step.