That’s how it feels, sometimes
Sometimes I’m afraid that people think I’m trying to insert myself into their lives. Like they don’t really value the relationship in the same way that I do. It sometimes feels like they’re just being nice, but they’d rather not be bothered.
It’s weird, right? To think about the people we’re connected to. I’ve always thought that I was a decent communicator, but then I don’t, when I start to think about who may actually feel close to me, I’m not sure who those people are anymore. There are always a few names that come to mind, people who are so easy to talk to. Yet, I can’t bring myself to talk to them, to ask them to listen, when I feel like I need to tell someone about what’s going on in my life.
About my mistakes and my faults. About my confusion and frustrations. My sorrows and my anxieties.
It’s not always like that, but sometimes.
Sometimes I don’t know if there is someone who would want to share the burden. Who I would want to share that small burden.
And I wonder, do they value the friendship in the same way that I do? Do I value my friendships in the same way that others do?
I’m sure there are people who wonder this about me too. I’m sorry if you do. But no one’s ever said anything to me, so I suppose I wouldn’t know.
And that’s another thing. Being open about it. Which just goes back to the ability to communicate well. Deeeng. I guess I still have more to work on. I’m not the best communicator that I could be.
I know what I’m doing wrong now
with this blog. I keep thinking to myself that it’s not flowing. That my words are coming out labored. And I know why now. It’s because I’m not writing as if I’m talking to you.
Yes, you, dear reader.
And I know it’s because I get the feeling that every post has to be significant. That I need to have some sort of substance in it. Like I need to fight of your attention. That I need to catch your eye.
This is a blog, a blog where Katrina talks. I should be talking. About anything. About everything!
I know I’ve been holding back. Trying to fit some sort of mold that I made for myself - that I thought I’ve made for myself, but it’s just a mold that I formed after already being molded by someone else. By more than one someone else.
But that’s not who I am.
And all of this, it might not make sense. It might all be jumbled up and confusing, and that’s okay. That’s what it is for now and there’s beauty in that too. Even if no one else sees it.
Do you believe it? Do you believe there’s beauty in all that you try to do. Try to create. Try to convey?
It’s more apparent, when you step back and try to see it.
And it’s not about perfection.
What about me, Katrina?
I get so caught up in what I’m trying to do for others or how I’m trying to convey who I am to someone else that I lose who I am. I forget how to communicate with myself.
Does that even make sense?
Have you ever felt like you’ve said something so many times that it’s lost its worth? I get that feeling now. Like I’m just going through the same emotions, same frustrations, same thoughts - and it’s not worth much anymore because it’s always just the same ol’ same old.
This face that people see. The image that is perceived, is it really me?
I’m under the impression that I’m decent at talking to people. But sometimes, I’m not sure I even know how to talk to myself.
Double you. Eye. Elle. Elle.
Four letters strung together to make one word.
A legal document. A name. A desire. A declaration. A choice.
It’s not a question of can, it’s a question of will.
“When we honestly ask ourselves which person in our lives mean the most to us, we often find that it is those who, instead of giving advice, solutions, or cures, have chosen rather to share our pain and touch our wounds with a warm and tender hand. The friend who can be silent with us in a moment of despair or confusion, who can stay with us in an hour of grief and bereavement, who can tolerate not knowing, not curing, not healing and face with us the reality of our powerlessness, that is a friend who cares.” ― Henri J.M. Nouwen, Out of Solitude: Three Meditations on the Christian Life
With these memories, tears fall now. But in the future, they will be remembered fondly.
Some children never really grow up in the eyes of their parents.
A blessing and a curse.