It’s 3:47 am, and I’m sitting at the airport, waiting for my partner to come home.
I just read Day 4 of Forty Days On Being A Seven, and the author Gideon asks us to write about the times we felt included and excluded. How we take up space in community. To spot what vulnerable edges we have, and how can we carry them, inviting [Divinity] and community to support us…
And to title it:
My Belonging Journey.
I was excluded in secondary school. That one I remember. I said something about a girl and she turned out to be one of the popular mean kids, so I didn’t have the chance to make many friends, only the ones who were outside her influence (more popular and nicer than she was, or other outcasts).
I felt excluded at home because I felt that my parents liked my brother better. They tried to be fair, but we’re human and we like/dislike people just like that.
I decided to be my own world. If I was going to be judged and excluded, then I’d just make myself happy. Hop, bounce, dance, grin, lie on the floor.
In junior college I took on the class chairperson role. You’re instantly included when you’re in a position that everyone needs to work with. And when you’re in the biggest clique.
I volunteered for things, was loud, bubbly, noisy, helpful, and I noticed it got me included in things.
University was a weird detour. I was excluded because of things happening outside of school, and I clung to my life outside it because of that.
When I joined real estate, my noisy friendly helpful persona got me included and invited and sometimes it even meant I received help. So I pushed myself to know and be known to as many people I could.
When I joined the dance community, I was tired. So I stayed quiet. No volunteering, no chatty persona. I’d smile and laugh and play when I was in class and at social dance sessions, but otherwise I’d stay off the chat groups. Still, people started recognising me, and again, help was extended.
I talk about help because it’s unexpected. People described real estate as full of slime, and how dance could be toxic, but I’ve met some of the nicest people. People who’ve included me in their plans and parties.
Jarrod spotted me in the dance studio, standing on my own and bopping along to the music (it’s my favourite story, the way we met). He’s included me in his life ever since, making time, giving me his energy and attention, creating space in his life.
I didn’t understand why I was included in Jarrod’s home, when I first went there. But I am included. I am considered, welcomed, wanted.
It’s taking a while, but I’m gently and slowly getting the message that I don’t have to be so loud, so bubbly, and so helpful if I don’t want to be. That I can just be myself and it’s enough.
I will still perform, of course. When I’m at Jarrod’s I choose to smile when I leave the bedroom. I’ll start conversations at the dance studio, and be curious. I try a little harder when I’m outside because there’s the off chance that home isn’t going to be there for me, and friends have saved me more times than they should have.
Ah. Did I just uncover a sore spot? I don’t feel like I belong at home. I feel like I had to carve out my own space, and fight to defend it where necessary. I’m the kid that had to be good, be helpful, smile. Girls had to behave, perform filial duties, be present and poised when needed. My brother rebelled, and so my parents held me tighter. I had to fight to be heard.
I know I’m quite a personality when I’m outside. Loud and throwing caution to the wind. I seem to take it as a test — if you can handle that, then you’re real, reliable, open, and can see the good in people. A kind of “if you can’t handle me at my highs then you’re not gonna get the rest of me” thing. Jarrod got that the first night we met. I was tired and just let that facet out.
He handled me quite well. (:D) No actually I was like that with him for quuiite a while. (Sorry love!) Then he got the rest of me.
I’d like to tone down. Especially when I’m not feeling like I want to be high. And if people don’t like me, or don’t invite me, or don’t include me, that’s okay.
I’ve got me. I’ve got my people. And there are lots of other people to meet.
It’s easy to make friends. I will always be able to make friends. It’s hard being real. To be focused on me.
💖🌧️
Image of a table set of a gathering, with blue glases and mugs,
and little pastries set out, by Engin Akyurt from Pixabay.
