Untamed Thoughts On A Random Day
I was recently having a discussion with a friend who was of the opinion that we should reserve our true selves for just a few people and if we are pouring out love unlimitedly for everyone, it drains us. If we don’t get it back and continue pouring, we lose ourselves in the process.
Here are my two cents on that. I agree with the part of getting drained and that our soul needs love back too. However, I think differently on the other part.
If I had reserved my true self only for people who know me, I wouldn’t have been able to be there for countless people I’ve helped during the course of my life.
Despite all my experiences of being alone in my heart-rending moments, I choose to be there for others, not because I feel the obligation to help them, but because I’ve been in darkness, I have sat through my pain alone, I know how it feels and I don’t wish upon anyone ever to feel what I felt.
It’s sitting through my own darkness alone that I’ve found the strength of being there for others in bleakness. I’ve seen strangers share with me their darkest secrets because they felt they could trust me. I wouldn’t have been able to do that for anyone, had I not walked through the streets of despair alone.
For some people, it’s not what they get, rather it’s what they give that makes them feel alive. It sounds bittersweet, but I guess some people are born to help others, rather than being helped by others. They have the prowess to sit with the other person’s grief with a share of their own grief.
Sensitivity and empathy are what’s the core of my very existence. If I take out these, I’m just flesh and bones — not a human anymore.
It’s putting my heart and soul into everything I do, that makes me feel existent. I feel better when I’m able to help out someone unconditionally.
It’s bonding with people over grief that has helped me make meaningful connections and I’ve been able to see through their soul more than that’s visible to the world.
I’m not saying it won’t make you feel lonely, I’m just saying it’s these impactful conversations and connections, no matter how minute they might be, that make me feel purposeful.
It’s the kindness extended by people who call me their “saviour”, that invigorates me to be my own saviour in the dreary depth of grim moments.
Yes, I am broken open — on some days it’s excruciatingly painful and healing hurts more than the wounds but my pain has enabled me to feel the pain of others profoundly. It’s what, makes me, “me”.
As Marya Hornbacher writes:
“How could I possibly love someone else when I couldn’t begin to conceive of showing them who I was? How could I see who they were? How could I close the gap I created between myself and everyone I met? And until I learned to love, how would I heal?”
P.S. It’s not a piece of advice, rather just some of my raw and naked thoughts that I’ve chosen to clothe with words.
