Letting Go Saved My Life

Until recently, I’d never really considered myself to be a hoarder or collector of things. In fact, in the past I could have been mistaken as a minimalist living a mediocre lifestyle. By nature, I am very free-spirited and have a worldview that easily adapts to the cycle of beginnings and endings that occur in life. Of course, like any other human being I have normal reactions that range from excitement to sadness depending on the situation. I don’t avoid the emotional labor of transition altogether. I simply prefer to expedite the process in order to maintain a state of equilibrium that I’ve created within myself. This state of being is one that I now cherish and am extremely proud of. Although that was not always the case. In the past it was a place where I was plagued by fear and torment mostly. We’ll call it the “safe room”. The safe room is an internal space that I began building for myself many years ago. We won’t focus too much on the root cause since that is an entirely different story to be told on its own. In this particular story I want to highlight an amazing transformation from being a terrified, self-loathing hoarder of negative thoughts into a beautiful maximalist lover of people and life.

       However, for the sake of context, just be mindful that the building of this room began with me as a little Black girl who wanted desperately to connect with the world around her but could not seem to no matter how hard I tried. Unknowingly, hyper-fixation on academic achievement quickly became my veil for undiagnosed high-functioning autism and adhd. Mental and emotional deficits went unchecked and grew like weeds behind this veil. Similar to the upbringing of many others who have received an ASD diagnosis as an adult, my adolescent home life did not provide the support that I needed. My mom’s best efforts as a single parent still fell tremendously short of truly understanding my odd behavior patterns and social ineptitude. And in the same breath, I can honestly say that my mother did her absolute best and I give her credit for introducing me to what I later realized was my saving grace throughout the years.

       Now this is also not of story about my religious beliefs or church affiliation. However, the truth of the matter is that my imaginative world used to create the “safe room” was greatly affected by attending church two to three times a week as a child. Til this day there are scriptures that belong to me as much as the very DNA that makes up the composition of my body. But churches are still run by people, who are also flawed and sometimes ill-informed as well. Unfortunately, I was treated as an outcast even in church, a place where one typically expects to be embraced with love and acceptance.

Between school, home, and church it didn’t take me long to realize that something was wrong with me. I was intelligent but I didn’t know how to get on in life like all these other people seemed to. I began to believe that they had answers I did not. Like some sort of life manual was programmed in their minds but left out of mine. Other people knew the right things to say and when to say them. They knew how to be successful and well-liked by their peers. Me on the other hand, I thought I was a smart, fun and creative person with a great sense of humor. It was as if inside I knew I was cool and amazing but everyone and everything around me was responding back saying “absolutely not”. When I talked, no one really wanted to listen or get to know me. So, like the intelligent young girl that I was, I made an observation over time and then decided on a solution: masking.

           At the time I had no idea that this was the beginning of me creating a coping mechanism. I didn’t know the definition of masking nor was I aware of the term. It took over twenty years to discover how harmful it actually is for one’s mental and physical health. I began to study people’s behaviors in order to mimic and mirror what was deemed socially acceptable. Masking is tiring as it involves a lot of mental gymnastics. But I kept at it because as a child I desperately wanted to belong. For years I studied those around me, making changes and upgrades to my mask as needed from one age to the next.

           On the outside, the identity I created with all of my masking barely kept my head above water with the others. It was often humiliating if I’m being honest. And I am committed to a level of transparency in case my story will help someone else feel seen and understood. People tolerated me. The really nice people in my life sort of let me tagalong. But even with my closest friends there were so many moments where they made it abundantly clear that I was different. So I was the butt of many jokes and received a lot of backhanded compliments. With my masking and proclivity towards people-pleasing, I fought tooth and nail for my spot in those social settings that had allowed me in.

      On the inside I was collecting fears and anxieties like Pokémon cards. In the safe room I became close with my depressive thoughts, insecurities, jealously, rage and many of the over-the-top emotions that can come with being autistic (but are socially unacceptable to share).  This internal space, filled with my loneliness, negativity and despair, became my safe place. It was mine. At the end of the day, and any available moments in between, I could retire to my safe room and ruminate. I could take the mask off and just be. At my core I believed that I was inferior to the others. I believed that I had to work twice as hard to be considered good enough. I was afraid to make mistakes. I was afraid to fail. I was triggered by rejection, whether real or perceived. I was envious of the very people whose approval I sought. Yet through church, spirituality had given me a wonderful “mustard seed of faith”. To say it was challenged on every side, is an understatement. That little seed was fighting with all its might to take root and grow anything positive in such darkness. Thankfully in my story grace and love truly abound much more than fear and hate. In this seemingly dreadful space, some positivity did sprout. Along with my beloved scriptures and pleading prayers to God, books were amongst the more positive fixtures in my safe room. I loved to read and escape into whatever reality the author had conjured up. My love for music was also born in the safe room. I processed and sorted through many of my emotions using music, sometimes for better other times for worse. Listening to music in this space, alone, made it okay to feel intensely without being judged. I was intelligent, tenacious, courageous, and resilient. I could ‘take a licking and keep on tickin’. Unfortunately, for many years the darkness continued to have the ruling seat in my heart. I had an insatiable need for external validation. I barely knew myself apart from those individuals closest to me. My goals and desires were tightly interwoven with their thoughts and opinions of me.

           In trying to paint a vivid picture of this room, I imagine it to be a dingy fifty square feet room with cracked paint on the walls. There is a small window, but it only provides a gleam of light along with a view of a bricked building and a sliver of the sky. The room would only have the bare necessities for the sake of survival. Instead of comfortable seating for lounge and relaxation, it would have pallets made from borrowed or second-hand fabrics, pillows, and padding. I believed that I could and should make the best of any circumstance. I would gladly accept anything leftover or second-hand. Which is probably one of the reasons why this more healed version of me is so resistant to thrifting. Something I really enjoyed in the past.

           Two major life events, which occurred eleven years apart, caused me to lean on that little mustard seed of faith more than I ever had. The events caused me to cry out to the higher power for rescue, help and answers to the prayers I had been praying all of my life. And that’s when the “awakening” began. Now I realize how confusing that may seem because we tend to look at time as being linear. And these events did occur eleven years apart. But that is also another aspect we do not have enough time to explore within a short story. So, for now I’ll just say that life is cyclical. I had been praying for years. So, what was different now? I turned off the need for external validation. I turned away from the world and gave my safe room and the higher power my full attention. Love, revelation, support, joy, and peace started pouring in. And at the start of these “awakenings” I was mostly alone, in a state of retreat from family and friends.

 Over the span of fifteen years I learned and unlearned. I went through a process of inner work that seemed like being in a hospital or therapy. I’ll use this time to speak about something I experienced within the process. I was becoming stronger mentally and gaining more and more clarity as time went on. I had developed a relationship with an inner compass. At certain times when life got sticky, I felt guided to seek out therapy through my employer’s EAP program. An employee assistance plan typically gives you access to a limited amount of sessions with a therapist. I will never forget receiving what felt like backlash for seeking out therapy on one occasion. Please know that old habits die hard. They must be taken out at the root. So here I was in my mid-twenties. I had moved back home from my college town, and I was attending my childhood church again, but as this newer, stronger version of myself. I felt guided to seek out therapy and I had an amazing session with an older Christian gentleman. I remember filling out a form that asked about my religious beliefs and church affiliation. I entered the information not knowing what would be done with it, and I still don’t know. However, the following Sunday I sat in the pew and listened as the pastor rebuked therapy. According to her we, the congregation, did not need therapy. We needed to have more faith in God. It was a heartbreaking moment and one that contributed to my deconstruction from church and religion. But that too is another story.

I wish I could tell you that everything was bliss and easy over the fifteen-year journey of healing. But the deconstruction of faulty belief systems was very painful and confusing at times. Many relationships were severed altogether or forever changed. However, by following that inner compass and using the mustard seed of faith, I had created a new vision for my life. The more I healed, the more I saw my vision coming to life before my eyes. The more I healed, the less I needed the mask. I began showing up more and more authentically in the world. I also wish I could say that fear and anxiety are things of the past. I can’t. But what I can say is that they have lost control and power over me. And I am very proud of that. They also re-branded as imposter syndrome trying to convince me that I am not prepared for the new life I am creating and living. Love says otherwise.

My safe room is now renovated. It’s bright and airy. The room has a larger window and an amazing view of the ocean. I’ve also uncovered the truth that I am a maximalist! But instead of hoarding thoughts of doubt, fear and insecurity, I now collect thoughts of living life abundantly. I also discovered that I’m an introvert who needs less time among others than I previously felt that I desperately wanted. I learned that what I believed about myself as a child was very true. I am creative, fun and fabulous! Being autistic and having adhd does not mean something is wrong with me. It’s different, but not wrong at all.

Letting go is not always as simple as saying the two words. But even when it’s hard…even when it takes fifteen years…if something is hurting you, letting go will be worth it.