No More Secrets

I’m sitting on the steps of some metro station at about 8 p.m. in Mexico City. I’m wearing a bright yellow sweater and baby blue Crocs. There are other people sitting on the steps, but I’m not sure why. I’m sure they all have their story. I wonder if they know it’s a full moon. I wonder if they are lonely.

I don’t like cities. I don’t like tourist areas. It has to do with belonging and class—but that’s another story.

It feels safe here, but I still wrap my backpack strap around the arm that’s not writing.

I came here for a guy, but also another story. I came here for the same reasons I’ve gone anywhere—because I don’t know where else to go. I’m lonely and sad—but not like you think. Not in a way that needs to be something other than what it is. I’m sad in a soft, empowered way. In a way I know is part of my path. In a way I know is perfect, although hard. In a way I know is divinely guided. But I’m not sure why I needed to disclaim that.

A guy on the internet said that if I want to share my writing, there’s at least one person who wants to read it. Synchronicities don’t make mistakes. I’m afraid to share because I have a story that not a lot of people care about what I think—my art, my sad mind.

But I am past that. Just not completely. But enough to start sharing my writing again.

I still haven't gotten to the point.

What’s the opposite of a soft launch? You know… when someone shows their new lover’s arm on their IG story and writes something vague. A gentle fizzle? I don’t want to tell you about the guy. I don’t want to seem unlovable. But you, my friends—the three people who might actually read this—you probably already know what I would say if I told you the story. We have fewer secrets than we think we do. You know me a lot better than I fear you do. It doesn’t matter. The idea is that if I hide parts of myself from everyone, and potentially myself, these parts will always be in the shadow.

I’m starting to get to the point.

This isn’t a terrified trauma dump anymore. It was before—my writings. It’s not a performative vulnerability to get attention. Of course, I want to be seen here, but I trust that this will get where it is meant to go. Now, it’s an opening—an invitation, with no insistence on outcome. I’m writing because I want to.

I want to be seen.

The point—
I am a fibber. I exaggerate. I started it very young, and I never stopped. I don’t normally tell big lies, just things like exaggerating my weights at the gym, telling someone I read a book about something when I watched a 13-minute video essay about it on YouTube, etc. I am trying to make myself more interesting.

But holy fucking shit, I am, without a doubt, the most interesting thing I’ve ever met. Do you have any idea how complicated I am?! I don’t need to pretend to be more interesting to get your attention.

This isn’t really news or a new realization. In 2018, when I was doing my YTT, I had the same realization. I didn’t do anything about it then. I wasn’t ready.

I know, none of this is news to you either. You know me. We can all read each other so much better than we think. This is the point in relationships—mirrors, without the personal narratives we attach to them. You know I fib. You also know that you have to be yourself to be seen in your true self. Blah, blah. This is every pop psych infographic on IG. I guess I don’t need to be so special that I am blowing everyone’s minds with brand-new information. I’m just writing it because it feels right.

I want to be the bravest I possibly can. But like in the way that sobriety, being with your emotions, and trusting yourself can be braver than a 10-day ayahuasca ceremony in the jungle.

So I have caught myself mid-lie lately. I almost don’t realize I do it sometimes. Every time I choose to hide the real parts of myself, even the smallest parts, I make a choice not to be seen—not to be known. Actually, I don’t struggle with self-love. I know how awesome I am. My trauma/fear has always been that no one else can see my awesomeness, and I could never quite figure out why.

Well, now I know why. I have never shown you…

Well, here I am! And… I’m awesome! I want you to see me! I want you to know me.
No more secrets.
I love you.