Being myself in front of others + an extract

A short meandering ponder and three-ish chapters from my work-in-progress novel

Within this small scene (below), that I offer you like a morsel before a meal, an amuse-bouche, a bowl of olives, the characters talk about being yourself in front of other people. I’ve been able to be myself a lot in Mexico. I suppose when you don’t know other people you don’t know what they want from you, hence you’re forced to be and unable to perform.

In therapy, we talk about how everyone is deserving of love and connection. My therapist asked me recently if I thought people had to be on an even keel to be in a relationship and I so wanted to answer “no” because I knew from her tone that that was the right answer, but the answer I found in my chest was a firm “yes”. And then I thought about the people I know who are together and love each other so well and they’re not the most formal and mild and “even” and healed and robotic of people. They’re actually all people of deep feeling. Honest people. People who perhaps aren’t healed or have been through a lot and so approach love, whether platonic or romantic, with great compassion and empathy.

I’m learning something I wish I knew a long time ago ~ that it doesn’t matter if you are healing or a bit sad that day. What really matters is being sad in front of the right people. Because you can show up as yourself and people will care about you. I promise. The people that don’t, though it’s hard to let them go, can be let go to make room for people who are able to love and care when it’s not all that convenient. (Don’t give yourself extra work here, by the way. You don’t need to let go actively. You just need to be yourself and see who keeps turning up.)

I am lucky to be able to be myself in front of some people in “normal” life but it’s rare enough that I notice it when it happens. I try to be myself always. Sometimes it’s about me, adjusting to a vibe. Sometimes it’s about the other person, who seems, probably unconsciously, to require me to adjust.

A friend of mine, let’s call her Meels, allows me to show up completely as I am. Good mood, bad mood. I really feel I know what love is because of her. So thank you to Meels, and thank you to friends old and new who allow me to be myself and even seem delighted with her, and thank you to lovely strangers in Mexico, too.

***Extract begins***

After, we lie facing each other, cuddled in the duvet, a small space between us. My eyes are closed. I don’t know about Leonardo.

“You know, I said I will tell you something after?”

“Mm?”

“You are... special.”

I open my eyes to give him a look. Guys say this to women all the time. That we are special. That we are not like the other girls. Women accept the compliment because it seems nice but the truth is, it’s a sneaky compliment. Firstly, because it’s not true. Three billion women in the world, but one is special? It’s not real. It’s a lie. Secondly, because it denigrates other women. Because no one woman is worth less than another. Everyone has their good points. Everyone is special in their own way. Thirdly, because it puts the man in the position of judge. As a good millennial feminist, this isn’t something I’m comfortable with.

But then Leonardo surprises me. Somehow, he knows I am thinking this. And so he says, “Well. Everyone is special. But I like the way—the ways—you are special.”

I think about what to say. Last year, when I was having some dating trouble, a friend gave me a manual. It said that, if someone compliments you, you shouldn’t deny the compliment. It undermines you, makes them question whether they are right, sows seeds of doubt. I think, as long as everyone is special, I can be special too. So I say,

“Thank you.”

“And what... why you like fragments?”

My eyes are closed. It’s dark. “Er.”

“Like you said earlier. Collage.”

“Mmm, because... life is... isn’t linear.”

“Yes. No.”

“It isn’t whole.”

“It’s not?”

“I’m not whole. I don’t feel. Parts of the story don’t knit up. It’s normal, I guess.”

“I am not sure...” he is reflective. “Which parts?”

“I dunno. Like, how I am with my family isn’t how I would be with you, is it?”

“It isn’t?”

“Overtly sexual and leading with “bold”? No, not really.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t you get it? Aren’t you different with your family and lovers? Or friends? Like, with one friend I’m more reserved because she’s reserved and with another I’m loud because she’s loud. With my agent I’m respectful and measured, with my flatmates I’m spitballing and cracking jokes.”

***This extract continues after the paywall. Free posts will resume next week***