The Pros and Cons of 3000 Miles

My parents, especially my Dad, were always adamant that our life is better having left SuperCity. People in SuperCity stayed in Supercity and never did anything with their lives.

"But Aunt Julie lives in PreppyTown and is a great artist!" I claimed.

"We left SuperCity for you, so you would have more opportunities." You ungrateful little bitch. Look at the big fancy house we bought for you. The sailing lessons. The summer camp. Life is better here. "Your life is better here."

I didn't understand. I couldn't accept it. Even at 10, I resented the idea that money and opportunities were the answer. I resented being told that I wouldn't have amounted to anything had I stayed in SuperCity. I resented being told they moved for me, because I was so deeply unhappy.

I fought to move back to SuperCity every day until I graduated and left for university. Begging became bartering which became well-evidenced cost proposals, as I grew from 10 to 16. And in the last two years of high school, I gave up. I threw myself to into the future, that is: escaping the emotional jail of my parent's home.

It's easy to see the cons of 3000 miles: just read The List, read Diagnosis, read the Timeline. To resolve the grief of moving would be an enormous milestone, but unfortunately simply writing about it in a blog isn't enough. The rest of my life hangs on that peg, and there are a lot of dominos scattered around this floor.

To move forward, I need to see opportunity and achievement in my experiences, even if I couldn't then. I can now.

Because of withdrawing so deeply, my personality changed dramatically. Rather than a leader, I became an observer. I watched people. The more I dissociated my own painful feelings, the more I filled myself with the emotions of others. My empathy grew. My intuition refined. I learned to endure suffering. I became INFJ.

I can't say I'm unhappy with the personality changes, though it is difficult to manage the needs of two very different Selves: the original extroverted Leader and the over-sensitive Protector. This has resulted in an unhealthy pattern of contact and withdrawal, as I draw energy from social situations but panic.

Having spent so much time observing people but so little time socialising meant that I could see quite clearly what people needed, and I had a deep desire to connect with them, but no idea how to do it.

Psychotherapy helped me cope with this extraordinarily imbalanced emotional intelligence. I'm still learning how to translate the depth of my knowledge and feelings into mature and appropriate behaviours.

Moving 3000 miles carved out a huge ravine in me. People in my life joined in the chiseling with every taunt, label, and rejection. I faced that ravine everyday growing up so alone. Some days it was filled with despair. But not every day.

It's important to reflect on that, as I work through these painful experiences. Remembering does increase my insecurity and anxiety. It does make me feel even more alone. It does make it difficult to pay attention to and enjoy today. The emotions are real. Holding on to them so privately for so long is real.

I need to make 'letting go' real, too, but in practice, 'letting go' feels more like choosing what to keep. In that case, I've put the pain in the post, Return to Sender.

I choose to keep my ravine.

I will keep pushing through The List, but the value of integration is not in the emotions but in the container. The emotions will go. The container remains. And the more I accept my experiences as mine, the more I become capable of.