How can a person possibly keep “the independence of solitude” while “in the midst of the crowd”? I’ve long needed an answer to that question…and I think I’ve finally begun to find it.

In the past year or so, I’ve changed a lot, mostly in my “persona”—how I present myself and relate to people externally.

For example, years ago, the people who interacted with me and passed me in the halls at daycare met a version of me that was friendly, smiley, and prone to awkward conversation. That was “masking” me—my persona of performing the social conventions I was taught.

Now, those same people meet someone quite different. I keep quietly to myself, not interacting except when the occasion truly warrants, and then keeping my words to a minimum. I’m usually wearing headphones, sometimes plus sunglasses and/or a hat as well. This is “unmasked” me.

I still smile at people and talk to them sometimes, and I don’t think my overall vibe is unfriendly. I aim to project an air of quiet calm—which actually can be true to how I’m feeling when I’m not straining so hard to appear sociable!!

As another example, all year at my kids’ dance classes, I didn’t try to be one of the social moms chatting and managing everybody, as I would have before, thinking that was what I was supposed to do. Instead, unless my kids or someone else needed me, I sat with my headphones and my knitting/writing/reading. Ahhh…so much better.

More and more, being that old persona of friendly competence feels strange to me, and being quiet is what feels authentic.

I’m still the same on the inside—but now I can much more easily stay present with my inside-self, because I’m actively protecting myself instead of straining to pretend to be like everyone else.

It’s like I’m a turtle now, instead of a chameleon! 🐢

Or in verse form:

I’m still me inside,
if you cannot tell;
but instead of a mask,
I wear a shell.

🐢

It feels like I’m finally figuring out how to exist in this world and still be me.

Part of me wants to sing in celebration of this growth.

Part of me wants to cry with grief for how long I strained to be someone I was not.

I’ll just let those parts take turns. ❤️‍🩹

When I look back on my growing up years, I’m boggled at how much time I spent in places and situations that felt uncomfortable to me—so much of school, church, and youth group, especially.

But it was all I knew; it was the air I breathed. There was no use in paying attention to my feelings of discomfort, because they were just part of how the world was. There wasn’t even a concept of “I am feeling uncomfortable”—just “this is how life feels.”

Now, decades later, as I sit at my kids’ dance studio feeling uncomfortable with the noise and people moving around me, I understand that this is not just how the world is. This is an experience of suffering particular to my special needs (i.e., autism)— which now I do pay attention to, make discerning choices about, and find ways to accommodate.

Life feels infinitely better now, and I’m infinitely grateful.