june wrapped: the essence of being perceived

how much to share?

songs to listen to while reading:

Some things Cosmic - Angel Olsen

Summer Depression - Girl in Red

Hello, sweet friends and readers alike,

I started this blog in January with a strict spreadsheet schedule including the who, when, and why of precisely what I would say and the topics I would write about. Fast forward to now, and I’ve sort of abandoned the schedule, titles or ideas ending up in their little keep notes jail cell while they wait for me to finish writing whatever I was going to say last month.

There are many unfinished works and little blurbs in the drafts, some with just a title and a few sentences, some waiting for me to press publish, but for some reason, I cannot. I have posts about comparing oceanic disasters, to taking a social media break, everything ranging from my relationship with my body to generational trauma, and -core-ifying religion.

This month’s dilemma is not a lack of ideas or even a slump in creating, but instead worrying about what will happen when I release the deepest of my brain worms into the public, letting them crawl free.

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A while ago, I asked someone very close to my heart what I need to work on/what they liked about me, and they said something along the lines of

“you care so much about what others think, you feel so deeply, your empathy levels are through the roof…I think you just need to care less.”

So, that is what I needed to work on. I simply just needed to care, but less.

There are two sides of me when it comes to that.

I can be brash and bold and say what’s on my mind and be spontaneous, upright, and unintentionally take over things when it is not my place to do so.

I can also be silent, a careful observer, thinking hard about what I am going to say or write before it comes out, watching, waiting, and calculating.

Have I ever been carefree? Perhaps careless?

When I think of the word carefree I think of arms outstretched in a field, barefoot, dancing and frolicking without any thoughts. When I think of carelessness, I think of knocking over a porcelain jar and seeing the shards all over the tiled floor.

What’s the difference between free and less?

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With summer beginning, everyone is off to make plans, travel, see each other, and start summer flings.

Last week, I told a friend that it was a chore leaving the house and that I need a week to prepare before I go out, and she replied jokingly “babes, that's depression.” In retrospect, she might be right. I thought my depression was seasonal, the worst in December, but maybe it can happen even when the sun is out.

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Next week, I’ll be one year single. This year has been easy for personal growth, but hard coming to terms with the fact that being single is harder than I thought. I’ve been blessed to experience what it is like to be both single and in a relationship, and with everything, there are things I miss and things I don’t.

As with all deep connections, the hardest thing is going from knowing them so well you can tell what makes them tick, their desires and fears, to acting like they’re a stranger. And as with all things, sometimes it doesn’t work out.

The reason I’m hesitant to open myself up and push myself into the world is that I am so scared that if I’m loved again, it won’t be love and that I am not worth intimacy, tenderness, or my skin caressed by calloused fingertips.

That they’ll run away when they see the stretch marks on my thighs, the indents on my cheeks that acne left, the way my stomach doesn’t sit flat, or my scars. I can convince myself these things are normal, which they are, but some part of me twists inside when I think about it. If it isn’t my body, maybe they’ll leave because of all of my problems, that I’ll be too much for them, a liability.

With words like “situationship” and “delusionship” floating around, especially used with my generation, part of me fears that I’ll be lied to, or hurt someone in a way where I cannot bring them back.

And there are times when it is better to go, or to let them go, than to stay.

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In childhood, it seems like there is nothing to worry about, except for what flavour yogurt you were getting in your lunchbox, if your classroom crush wants to be girlfren/boyfren, or whether or not you’ll be picked first to go out for recess.

Then suddenly adolescence hits and everything changes, you begin to feel hyper aware of what people think of you, what you’re going to wear, say, whether your body language was appropriate, whether or not they’ll like the way you do things, and on and on and on and on.

And you’ll have regrets, moments that’ll wake you up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night, muttering to yourself “why did I say that?” or “why did I do that?” Most often, it isn’t the why, but the reaction of others around you, and how they perceived you in that moment.

I do not know why I care so much.

Maybe it's because of comments relatives have said to me, maybe because of my pride, upholding a reputation, growing up religious, maybe, or not.

It could be just the way I’m wired.

The problem is, it doesn’t just apply to me, it applies to my friends and family when I think they’re being too loud or embarrassing, but it’s just them being themselves. I’ve concluded if it isn’t affecting or harming anyone else, and they are acting with good intentions, who am I to stop them?

If it bothers me, maybe I do have a place to say something.

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The way we are perceived runs the country, with celebrities staging relationships and influencers posting the most posed and edited bikini photos.

We do it too.

Differentiating between what is real, what is fake, what is PR, and what are actual interactions can be hard, as well as removing self-worth from a single hate comment.

Substack shows when you gain subscribers, and also when you lose them, and if I eventually plan on posting more personal or opinion pieces, I have to be prepared to face negativity as a sensitive person. As well, there is a separation of the person from persona through a screen, and the fear of those I do not know piecing my life together like a puzzle from what I post publicly and having enough hate or malice to doxx me or twist my words into blackmail is a fear that I do not know if I am willing to face.

We will see if I am brave enough to burst the bubble or to protect my peace. I love reading (see below) and relating with creators all over Substack and other media-sharing websites, and I realize that I can still have peace and post my pain.

Cathartic creating, in its purest form.

In the end, I mostly control what I want to share and what I want to keep to myself. I remember that everyone has a story, and so do I.

I’ll leave some chapters secret until someone turns the page.

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Reading:

Alaïa Soars: The Healing Process: Disillusion Towards The Past

Alayah: 007. begging for love in all the wrong places

Charlie Squire: My Year (and a half) of Celibacy and Revelation

Evana: Every second counts

Keara Sullivan: Catholicism & Me

Mya Moon: read into my melancholia

Rayne Fisher-Quann: suffering mix

Listening:

Duvet - Bôa

Francesca - Hozier

I Still Hear You - Adrienne Lenker & Buck Meek

Man - Quinnie

Moves - Suki Waterhouse

Not Strong Enough - Boygenius

Loving:

Uniqlo built-in bra tops!

Jojoba oil for hair, skin, and nails

Beachcombing & Picnics

Sparkling beverages

Memory boxes

Taking myself on solo dates

The quietness of twilight (not the film series, the time of day)

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That is all for June, see you in July <3

Signing off for now,

Rach