Travis - 43

A few weeks ago, an old friend said to me, “you’re the kind of person who doesn’t care about what other people think.” I felt embarrassed because it meant that this man I’d known for decades, one of my supposed closest friends, had never seen me clearly. Because I hadn’t let him.

The truth is I’ve spent most of my life very much caring what other people think, trying to control how I’m perceived. This is a strategy that has kept me isolated, on the outside looking in. An early example comes to mind: the time I didn’t attend my grade seven dance. I pretended I didn’t care and said that the whole thing was stupid, but probably I was afraid of being ranked. There was no way to control how I looked to people — it’s impossible to fake being a good dancer — and since I would only be deserving of love (of existence!) if my rank was high enough, better to just avoid it altogether, act like I was above it all.

And I kept doing that. I developed a face to show the world: funny, charming, bright, present, caring, moral. But that was on the outside. You didn’t get to see the inside, which was a human being with needs I didn’t know how to meet, and in fact could barely even recognize. There was a visible world for you, and a hidden world for me. That hidden world for me was powered by shame, by a feeling of sexual inadequacy, by emotional incompetence, and by a competitive streak — more accurately an obsession with social rank — that I have seen as a problem for as long as I can remember, but which I’ve never managed to resolve (only to hide or suppress).

And from that hidden place I acted in ways that violated my own values. That shiny, competent, funny, charming, bright, present, caring, moral person was also monstrously selfish, compulsive, and delusional. I behaved in ways that hurt people, made the world feel less safe for them. I gave them things to deal with that may be with them for a long time.

I am profoundly sorry.

Eventually, thanks to the courage of a person I had hurt, there was a crack in the bubble. Some of the impacts of my behaviour spilled out into the open, and my concern for how I’m perceived kicked in hard — hard enough to get me into therapy. I’d been in therapy before, but this time something was different. There was a part of me that had been screaming at me to do something about these problems, and now it had an outlet (I sometimes wonder if my years long problem with insomnia, now gone, was in some way a product of that inner voice — a “how do you sleep at night?” kind of thing). After a few months of this, in January 2019, something cracked, and I told my therapist everything. The hidden world had broken through to the surface.

This was not a comfortable experience, and I didn’t handle it well at first. In fact, I remain uncomfortable, full of shame and fear. I am, in a sense, rebuilding my nervous system, and this work has been slow for me. I’m grateful to have good help, but I am cautious about drawing too many conclusions, or speaking as though I know what I’m talking about. I have a sense of purpose, but I don’t always know exactly how to proceed.

And there are contradictions. My healing requires me to find acceptance of myself, to let go of the toxic shame. But it’s easy to imagine the people I’ve hurt not being very impressed with this feat of self forgiveness, should I ever achieve it. “Oh, you forgave yourself? Good for you.” And yet in some cases I’m not sure what an apology from me would be worth if it didn’t come from a place of healing and peace — to attempt to apologize from a place of hot shame might end up as a further burdening of someone I’ve already burdened too much.

But those questions are for another day. I’m not rushing. It’s been nearly three years since I started down this path of (actually, finally) working to fix what’s broken, and it will be years more before I’m done. The changes so far have been subtle but profound. I am better at feeling my feelings and sharing them, more attuned to my impact on other people, and perhaps less reactive. I’m less alone, less isolated, I have resources I can draw on — a therapist, the men in my men’s groups and other support groups. I have nurtured better connections with my friends. I’m grateful for that.

I am doing my best to move forward from a place of humility. I don’t know what will happen next. How I’ll describe this time of my life in a couple of years when I imagine I’ll have a better view of the whole picture I can’t really say.

For now, it’s just one day at a time.

Music - Travis’s music choices during our photo session included, Sufjan Stevens and Andrew Bird.