when visibility goes viral
the ripple effect of letting our truths be seen (+ props to prince đ)
I often think of this quote by Winnicott: âArtists are people driven by the tension between the desire to communicate and the desire to hide.â Maybe itâs because Iâm an artist or a HSP or an enneagram type 4 (or just another human being?), but I have a chronic case of not ever feeling fully seen â while simultaneously dodging the spotlight.
In childhood, even though I sooo wanted to make myself visible, I was socialized into self-consciousness. I began tucking away parts of myself that werenât receiving positive and accepting feedback. Itâs a common and smart survival strategy when weâre dependent kids with no agency.
In early adulthood, I tried to express myself as fully and honestly as was possible, but nothing quite scratched my inconsolable itch of not feeling seen/heard/met. At the time, I partially attributed this to my career as a psychotherapist. In our training, therapists learn how to hold a therapeutic container appropriately. This, of course, meant not sharing about our own personal lives in client sessions unless it was undoubtedly in service of the client. In our ethics classes, we were also taught to be careful about what we put out into the world via our writing, art, and social media and to be careful about how we show up in public spaces. For nearly two decades as a therapist, I was probably too careful and restricted, by my own âgood-girlâ doing. I held myself more tightly boundaried than I needed to outside the therapy room. I longed to be congruent in all contexts â to be seen and known and connected to others through mutually expressing our authenticity. Thatâs where the relational magic happens, but I wasnât allowing myself to foster it.
When Iâd outgrown that uncomfortable cage, I paused my private psychotherapy practice and listened inwardly to what wanted to happen next. Around age 42, I began a profound emergence. Emergence means to come into view after being previously concealed. I was free to unmask parts that had been quaking inside. Thatâs where my book, Midlife Emergence, begins⊠and I let myself become shamelessly visible through the cathartic writing and publishing process of my first book.
âWhat now seems to you opaque, you will make transparent with your blazing heart.â â€ïžâđ„ -Rainier Maria Rilke
This restricted visibility piece may not be the exact case for you, career-wise, but each of us have arenas in which we are quite private, for whatever reason. It might also be at your place of work. It might be with your in-laws. It might be with certain friends. I was talking with a dear soul friend last week about when it feels appropriate and safe to become visible in our truths and why it matters. How much do we want to unveil and unmask, and where, and with whom, and whyâŠ? For some, it is not safe to be visible in all of our truths in every single context, as we are in a time of great divisiveness, ignorance, and fear of anything that threatens the status quo. Sometimes even the status quo of our own homes. Letâs be clear â becoming visible does not mean you need to shout your secrets from the rooftops or be an oversharer, leaking every last morsel of your truth to anyone within earshot. Sharing ourselves requires courage, but it also requires safety and discernment.
You might recall that last autumn, on National Coming Out day, I wrote a post here on prism called the irritation + the immunity of invisibility about the pain (and even illness) we experience when key parts of ourselves are not visible. If youâre not already a paying prism subscriber, you wonât be able to read full archived posts like this one anymore, butâŠ
One year ago this month, I put my memoir into the world and lost a lot of sleep in the visibility hangover of it all. (Like most things that empower us to shed inhibitions, visibility comes with hangovers.) After years of being more closed off about my own life, it felt healing to allow my internal grist to become a platform and invitation for visibility. Every single time I question why I shared the most tender pieces of my heart with the world, I remember my teenaged self and my twenty-something self who didnât have any models for queerness, so I felt alone. I swallowed the inklings about my own sexuality and took the heteronormative, prescribed path. Had I known of more stories like mine, I might have felt more validated, safe, and connected. Every time I receive a review or a personal message from a reader, it helps me remember the healing impact of visibility. And it brings tears to my eyes. đ„č
This week marks the midway point for this springâs Midlife Emergence group program Iâm facilitating, and our groupâs theme this week is visibility. Iâve already heard from participants about the relief it offers when you can make your truth visible, even if just to one other trusted person, and how that ripples out in beautiful ways to heal and validate everyone it touches. (If you want to be notified when the next round of this potent, virtual group begins, click here and put your name on that list.)
Today also is the start of week Lesbian Visibility Week, a time of celebrating this marginalized community and showing solidarity with all queer people. This Wednesday evening, Iâm thrilled to be a member of a panel alongside two other award-winning, queer memoirists, sharing the importance of visibility and of telling our unique stories. This free virtual event is intended for queer folks, but is open to all who want to celebrate the spirit of this message. Mark your calendar now for Wednesday, April 24, and join us! No registration required. Click here for details and for the Zoom link.
Speaking of standing for visibilityâŠ
listening to: Prince. Yesterday was the 8 year anniversary of his passing, and heâs such a model for being visible in the truth of who you are. âïž
reading: this
poem from Youâd Better Be Lightning
still fascinated by: the fact that the day before Prince died in 2016, I saw a purple shape in a blob of my abstract watercolor paint and embellished it with ink (this is called responsive drawing) and Prince appeared!
building: a snowperson⊠because, yes, Sometimes it Snows in April.
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