You Don't Have to Meet my Darkness to Receive my Light
(Over)sharing isn't always caring
Have you noticed how even healing seems to have become a competition?
Who’s been through more, who’s suffered the most.
This comes from a place of silent rage. Against being forced to bleed on a page for connection. Against having to prove I have been through enough to “qualify” to talk about suffering.
Guess what? I have. And I’m still in the very thick of it.
The Purple Spectrum wasn’t born out of boredom or desire for the spotlight. It exists because I could no longer take NOT talking about how damn hard it is to survive as a neurodivergent woman who also happens to be a mom to a neurodivergent child.
What you see here is as vulnerable as it gets - if you were to know my circumstances. And no, it’s not a choice. It’s a necessity. It’s bigger than my fear of being seen.
I get how trauma bonding is addictive. So much so you can’t seem to get enough of it. Perhaps it’s what keeps you going. Perhaps it’s the only source of inspiration, so you keep feeding it to survive.
But what if there’s a version of you beyond the pain we wear like a badge of honor? One that doesn’t need to identify as “the suffering one” to be valid and deserving?
I’ve been in proving mode my entire life - that I’m smart enough (for a woman), that I’m strong enough (for a woman), that I’m driven enough (for a woman), that I’m self-sufficient enough (for a woman). And guess what? 39 years, 2 degrees, 22+ certifications and 13+ years of corporate experience later I still haven’t. Want to know why? Because I never got it from the one person whose validation would have mattered most. Me.
Before you rush to call me out on being full of myself, let me stop you right there. Whatever your assumptions about me, they’re wrong.
Self-hatred is a b*tch.
It’s the silent voice that makes you abuse substances for eleven years to cope with your pathetic undiagnosed self and maybe, just maybe understand why your alcoholic father did it throughout your entire childhood. That same voice that convinced you your eating disorders were in fact your most loyal companions for eighteen excruciating years. The voice that resembled every single narcissist you ever met and who almost succeeded in tearing down your life - starting with your mother.
How is that for a reveal? Do you like me more now? Did I earn the right to call myself one of you?
You don’t have to meet my darkness to receive my light. Yet, here I stand, giving you a glimpse into the abyss.
💜