Finger Food For Thought

im so glad we have a day to be proud of being wlw

And I think what’s interesting is that as I grow older, not only do I realize that I probably never will experience nan time when I’m completely confident and assured and knowing what I’m doing on all fronts and that in a lot of ways I’m still the “me” who I was as a kid/teenager, I also find I’m able to see through other adults to find that inner child, too.

I’ve been thinking a lot about what it means to discover ourselves, and what it means to be an adult. How we have to find hobbies otherwise we become uncomfortable with quiet-- because as kids we’d fill that time with games, toys, and imagination. How so many of us try so hard to find as many labels as we can to stick to our foreheads to rationalize how we fit into the world around us. Not even just gender and sexuality and career, but introvert/extrovert, outdoorsy/indoorsy, meat eater/vegetarian, various things within mental health or neurodivergence, etc etc. We’ve gone from allowing many of these words to simply be descriptors, to having adults who truly latch on to the words so that they can feel like they are something, like they are a part of something, belong to something. To somewhere.

It’s not wrong by any means! I just wonder, what it does to us. To feel like we are now operating under A Label. In some ways it’s a relief, to know how we are supposed to act in certain situations because there’s a formula for it based on what we identify as. But can’t it also box us in? Or that by using these labels to form our identity, we try to let the labels do the talking for us, to introduce who we are instead of allowing people to get to know us. Perhaps it keeps us a bit separate. “Take the schema you have about these things and apply them to me.” What if we not only do that for others, but for ourselves?

Who are we?

Who are we?

in another time,

in another place,

My first self: the I

She’s the one who is normally thinking and acting. When things happen, she is the one to respond to it, react to it, feel it. She is the voice that refers to the others. She is the most “me” of the selves, in some ways. And in other ways she is more of a mirror or a blanket to cover the other selves. All of the selves are internal, but she is the least so. Some of her feelings might be said to people she’s close to, some thoughts might be able to be put into words.

The second self: the You

She’s the one who gets blamed. Whenever something goes wrong, or I forget something, or I get embarrassed. She’s the one who gets talked to the most. “You’re so stupid.” “Why do I always do that.” “I can’t believe I just did this again.” She’s called names, she’s put down, she’s scapegoated. Sometimes when I’m really angry I take it out on her too much. Instead of just letting myself feel what I feel, I blame her and want her gone. I decide she has to pay. Sometimes I confuse her with who I am as a person, taking these names that I call her and beginning to think they describe myself too. I need to be nicer to her. Because she’s also the one who wants to hear compliments, praise, acceptance. The second self is who you talk to, when you talk to yourself.

The third self: the Me

I cannot get her voice, her laugh, the feel of her fingers out of mind. Udhudjdjjhhhhhhh

It’s scary to think that the image of you that I have, every moment, turns from a mirror to a mirage. 

Your picture stays the same-- 

your likes, your dislikes, your interests, your hobbies. I get to keep you, frozen in time. 

That image of you gets to be mine, as much as you were ever mine. 

But the real you keeps on growing, changing, experiencing, altering.

Until the you I get to hold onto is a stranger to the real one.