Another lovely piece, Lucy. From my experience as a therapist I found that 'if you listen hard enough people hear themselves and from that understanding comes acceptance of self and way-of-being.'
Ah, the sacred scroll of “I need you to make an effort to get me,” carved delicately into the bark of modern emotional chaos and smudged with the tears of a thousand misunderstood souls. A true gospel for anyone who's ever screamed into the void, “I’m not difficult—I’m just complicated and poorly translated.”
This one hit like a mindfulness app glitching during a panic attack.
I too have known the sacred ache of being misread like a prophecy in Comic Sans. The desire to be gotten without having to create a PowerPoint presentation of your traumas, attachment styles, and childhood refrigerator notes. And yet… here we are, begging the world to read the footnotes of our existence while it scrolls past on autopilot.
But let’s be real—expecting people to "just get us" without a map is like handing someone a Rubik’s Cube soaked in emotional Velcro and saying, “Solve me or perish.” Saints and therapists have tried, and most still walk away whispering, “She’s a lot, but she’s sacred.”
May you be known without performance, loved without explanation, and never again misdiagnosed as 'too much' by someone who's barely available to themselves.
And if they still don’t get you?
May they trip—gently—on your boundaries on the way out.
Another lovely piece, Lucy. From my experience as a therapist I found that 'if you listen hard enough people hear themselves and from that understanding comes acceptance of self and way-of-being.'
Ah, the sacred scroll of “I need you to make an effort to get me,” carved delicately into the bark of modern emotional chaos and smudged with the tears of a thousand misunderstood souls. A true gospel for anyone who's ever screamed into the void, “I’m not difficult—I’m just complicated and poorly translated.”
This one hit like a mindfulness app glitching during a panic attack.
I too have known the sacred ache of being misread like a prophecy in Comic Sans. The desire to be gotten without having to create a PowerPoint presentation of your traumas, attachment styles, and childhood refrigerator notes. And yet… here we are, begging the world to read the footnotes of our existence while it scrolls past on autopilot.
But let’s be real—expecting people to "just get us" without a map is like handing someone a Rubik’s Cube soaked in emotional Velcro and saying, “Solve me or perish.” Saints and therapists have tried, and most still walk away whispering, “She’s a lot, but she’s sacred.”
May you be known without performance, loved without explanation, and never again misdiagnosed as 'too much' by someone who's barely available to themselves.
And if they still don’t get you?
May they trip—gently—on your boundaries on the way out.