Ta-dah
Starting to make sense of myself
(Photo taken of me in front of the Petronas Towers, Kuala Lumpur)
This week I’ve been launched on all the socials.
My cousin’s a social media manager and he’s helping me out. I’m being led by him and I’m jumping in.
It feels like a lot. Not because of the platforms themselves — more the jumping in. Doing something new. Not knowing what will happen.
A close friend messaged to check I was okay. They weren’t sure if I was feeling myself. I told them I feel calm, but there’s an undercurrent of uncertainty. How they picked that up from thousands of miles away, I don’t know. Other people have been saying they’re pleased to see I’m finding my flow. And I do feel like I am.
But my friend felt something. And they were right.
I’ve spent a lot of my life trying to be invisible.
It’s a skill. A feeling. A process I’m very familiar with.
When I was very little, I would want to become invisible whenever I was made to feel different. Sometimes it was to do with the colour of my skin. Other times because I wasn’t very clever at school. Sometimes because I was socially awkward, or because I was trying so hard to people-please that I was playing a role instead of just being.
From primary school through high school, this need to become invisible would kick in. I’d spend more time being quiet and watching rather than saying anything. I’d pretend to be ill so I didn’t have to go to school or to classes or clubs. I was very good at pretending to be ill. (I reckon my parents knew.) I’d spend time in my room, talking to myself, getting under the covers. Longer in the bath. I’d walk on my own — even if I was walking to school with other people, family, friends, I’d walk separately.
I remember sitting in lessons thinking, can I get away with not saying anything or writing anything in this lesson?
Being invisible is a very held, contained state. I can remember what it felt like to go into myself, into my head, so that I didn’t mess up or have an impact or be part of anything going on around me.
As an adult, sometimes this looks like getting lost in TV for hours. The same series on repeat, then starting again. Stopping myself from doing things. Stopping myself from being part of things. Saying no.
I really know what invisibility feels like in my body. I really know when I’m actively trying to make it happen. It’s like a switch that flips when I feel like it’s gone too far, or I’m really not okay with not knowing what’s going to happen.
I think part of it has always been about not quite making sense.
To others, sometimes. To myself, more often.
When you don’t feel legible — when you can’t quite locate yourself — disappearing feels rational. Safer than being seen clearly and still not adding up.
Something has shifted since moving to KL. I’m starting to make more sense to myself here. I can’t fully explain it. The ground feels different under my feet. More solid. And something that was always missing — some piece I couldn’t name — feels less absent.
I don’t think I would have been okay with this social media launch before. I’d have found every reason not to do it.
So here I am.
Launched. In this liminal space between the old pattern and something I can’t quite see yet.
I’m not trying to reach anything. There are no milestones. I’m just living, and showing up, and trying not to disappear on myself.
That’s enough for now.