Be Bold

It's strangely quiet and fluid

(Photo of the friends that got me through at 30)

Labels have been on my mind lately.

Maybe because I’ve moved – people want to know who I am, what I do, where I fit. And I’ve noticed something shift in me. I don’t want to pin it down anymore. The fluidity is actually what I’m enjoying.

There are helpful labels and unhelpful ones. Sometimes I want to live in a label-free world, where I’m just met in the moment for who I am. But then my mind starts telling me what it thinks others might think. And I catch myself wanting to perform – to make sure you see *this* characteristic first, not that one.

I’ve written posts before where I’ve listed out all the labels I can think of that people might see in me. I’m not going to do that today.

I think I’m getting a clearer picture, feeling, sense of how I am. And I don’t need those hooks anymore – the ones that help others make sense of me.

Which makes me wonder: is this all about people making sense of me, or is this about me making sense of me?

Experiencing myself

Experiencing myself in so many contexts, one after another after another – this has been just what I needed.

I don’t think you can build, rebuild, develop, get to know a sense of self without this. It requires you to be bold.

Be Bold. This was my password for a long time. I had to type it every day into my computer. It was given to me – or reflected back to me – when I was doing the Clore Leadership course at age 26. That was when I felt like I conciously brought it into my world.

There was so much of me I was hiding at that time. Holding down, keeping contained. People pleasing had become my default (though it’s been with me most of my life). Very agreeable. Not wanting conflict. Staying away from difficult conversations.

I was aware of this phrase – Be Bold – that I wanted to be in so many ways. Maybe I thought I was being bold. In my work. Travelling. Getting engaged and married. But boldness looked like one thing on the outside – it didn’t feel like it on the inside.

Then at 28 I moved to a new town with my husband, and I suddenly felt so lost. I didn’t know who I was.

That period of my life, aged 28 to 34, I just remember feeling lost. Loads of great things still happened, but I was really struggling. I lost friends in this time. I could feel this behaviour, this attitude coming out of me that felt so unreal – like I was watching myself and saying, “Who are you?” There were days when I felt like I was scrabbling around, ready to hold on to anything that would just feel okay, remotely good.

A highlight was turning 30 and doing all sorts of challenges and new experiences with a group of friends – including learning Beyoncé’s Single Ladies dance and getting my first tattoo. The thing I remember most about that year was wanting to get together and laugh. To forget everything else and feel connected to people I love.

There was so much underneath that lost feeling. I was processing finding out my dad wasn’t my dad. That I was half Malaysian. Finding out that having children naturally wasn’t something my husband and I were going to be able to do on our own – instead we had to have science, money, and a lot of other people to help us out. I hated this. (Watching the film JOY recently has been extraordinary for me to rethink all of it.)

The dance

The main thing that got me through was dancing.

I found Five Rhythms. For about two years, from age 31 to 33, I went every Sunday night in Manchester. Two hours of moving. I did not stop.

I remember I would often leave soaking wet because I danced so hard. Being with 50 or 60 other people, not talking, feeling the loud music and moving in whatever way came – this was just what I needed. I cried often. I smiled. I repeated some movements over and over again.

I didn’t talk to many people there. I didn’t connect with people outside the session. I was doing this on purpose because I just wanted somewhere that was about the dance. Me. My body.

If I had to make friends, I would perform. Or I’d end up helping clear tables and chairs at the start of class. I just wanted to go and be held in the dance.

I felt maybe a bit rude. Like I knew I was pissing people off by not talking much. Maybe this was the first time I felt bold? But I was doing what I needed.

I will always be grateful for that time. They didn’t know what they got me through.

The quiet rebellion

So often we care about the bit that’s up front – the job title, being married, being successful, having kids, the house, the car. But the real person is behind all that.

I feel like the last 18 months has been a huge journey of letting go and settling into something incredibly bold. Really stepping out of my comfort zone – moving here, yes, but also going to dinner with people I don’t know, turning up at family open house parties, meeting a potential collaborator for work, going to a new area without googling it first. Just seeing what happens.

I’m expressing myself more. Sharing my ideas. Not overthinking what the response might be. (This feels vulnerable but okay.)

I feel much more confident in my work and its place and the impact it has. I think I was apologetic about it before because it’s a bit different – it involves adults moving, improvising, playing. But that’s so much of my story. It makes total sense to me why I do it, so I’m able to articulate it better now. And I feel really good about sharing it more. Because why hide?

Maybe for the first time I’m okay in stillness. I’m feeling grounded in this new place, so I have a sense of foundation. I feel like I’ve come out of some fog – so I can spend more time thinking clearly and feeling good about the actions and decisions I make.

I’m not living frantically. I can feel the quiet rebellion in me as I act so much more from a place of intention.

The grapple and the fight has quietened. The pleasing is still there – but I have to hold on to some things!

Be Bold used to feel like something loud. Forceful. Fixed. Brash. Something I had to type into my computer to remind myself to be.

Now it feels quieter. Like trying things out with no commitment. Speaking up. Connecting.

I don’t need the hooks anymore – the labels that make me legible to others. I’m experiencing myself in enough different contexts that I’m starting to just... know.

And the fluidity of that – not pinning it down, not defining it, just being in it – that’s what I’m enjoying.