I have a deep desire to be understood, to be seen in a light as thoughtful and whole and compassionate. The older I get and the more bold I become in my values the more I find people do not like me. The more brave I get in sharing my messy process the more I disappoint people with not knowing enough yet. The more I become myself the more uncomfortable it is for me and others.
Staying the same is incredibly luxurious, a luxury I don’t feel we can afford but one we may desire and settle into. There is so much jarring in the changing, so much risk for fight, flight, freeze, or fawn to emerge.
There are different levels of disappointing people, conflict, and harm. There is a difference between someone saying my book is a “horribly edited piece of feminist trash” on Goodreads and being in a group of people and having my privilege get in the way of seeing the whole scope of something. There is a difference between bumming a friend out because I had to cancel plans and creating a pattern of distrust or codependency that needs to be carefully looked at.