Not "Fine"

As of next month I will be done semester three (year one!) of my MA in Counselling Psychology. Half way through. That fact has led me to look back, reflect. A year ago I was scared out of my mind to enter this program. The last 10 months have been incredible. Probably one of the best years of my life. Definitely the hardest.

The things I have learned has sparked a journey: to know myself. And not just the part I like: the kind, compassionate, caring part that comes out when I'm well fed and have a full night's sleep. It's about acknowledging the part of myself that I hate and try to keep hidden from the world and myself: the selfish, hateful, shameful part that is present in all of us. The consequences of refusing to acknowledge and deal with the parts of ourselves or our story that we prefer to disown are subtle but dire. Inauthenticity, restlessness, and even dissociation are a life sentence if we don't make a change.

You see, life is easy when you don't dig too deep within yourself. No, not perfect, but when you refuse to acknowledge the crap that you're knee deep in and ignore the fact that you're tracking it all over your life, things seem okay. You know it's there, the parts of yourself and your story you wish would disappear, subconsciously at least. But you ignore it. I did. You plug your nose. You close your eyes. When people ask you about how you're doing you smile and say "Fine". Eventually you start to believe yourself. Eventually you forget the stinking, rotting feces is there. It ceases to exist.

Then something happens. Often suddenly. For me it was this program. Your eyes are unveiled. You see the crap you've surrounded yourself with. You realize its stench permeates every cranny of your life. Part of you wonders how you could have lived this way this long. The other part longs to return to the blissfully unaware crap hole you called home.

And it's not to late to return. Many do, diving head first into it, burying themselves in it. It burns their eyes and nose, but they swear they're happy. "Fine".

But there are others: those who are tired of the status quo, those who are brave enough to look at their mess, those who are scared of what they'll find, but will no longer be ruled by fear. They will survive. Not without bruise, not without burden. Not without toil and turmoil. At first, seeing it all, seeing the squalor in which you stand for what it is, is incredibly frightening. Things will get worse as your senses, your sight, your smell, your touch and taste, readjust.

This has been my journey, my life, these past months. "Oh, I am so self-aware," I thought, "You know yourself, you have most of your life together." I now smile at my naivety.

My journey is far from over. I still find nooks filled with crap everyday, parts of myself I'd rather ignore, parts of my story I am ashamed of. But I try to face it, try see it, try admit I'm not "Fine" when asked.

Next time you see me and ask me how I am, if I say "Fine," feel free to call me on it. And I might call you on it too.