I didn’t think it would happen so publicly. Certainly not in front of hundreds of people.
In my fantasy, the first time I’d come out about my complex PTSD rage episodes in vivid excruciating detail, I’d be hiding behind a computer screen, or in the comfort of my own home, where I could crawl under the covers after leaking the shameful truth out.
But reality brought an even more sudden and dramatic coming out.
Earlier this summer, a bout of existential void hit me. Sweat from the heat mixed with sweat from my anxiety. I knew something was missing, but I couldn’t figure out what. Paired with it was deep existential exhaustion—the kind that makes your hair feel tired. The kind you feel in your bones, even in the cells of your marrow. The weariness. The fragility of bones and spirit about to break.
“You don’t seem happy.
At three or four years old, I sat alone on the carpet in our Chinese immigrant home in San Francisco, never knowing when anyone would ever come home. Locked inside, lonely, feeling abandoned.
My parents were doing the best they could to provide for our family in a foreign land, but we were poor and I was often neglected—not by choice but by necessity.
It hurt. A lot. Or at least, it should have.
As I held him in my arms while my insides were sewn back into place on the operating table, my son opened his little beady eyes one at a time.
At last, we met face to face on a rare snowy day last April. Nine months of gestation (well, a little over nine… stubborn dude was a bit too cozy in there), seventeen hours of excruciating induced labor, two epidural attempts, and one emergency c-section later, Atlas made it out.
"Unfortunately, this will be our last performance for Carmen," the conductor announced to our packed audience of over 1,000 people on March 10, 2020.
We didn't know how to react. Applause for the amazing opera performance we just saw? Or keep our mouths open in shock, as he shared that all large state-owned venues closed the next day due to the pandemic? Some guests coughed around me. I coughed too. Oh shit.
I was safe in a cocoon when the metamorphosis happened. Lying on my couch, underneath the soft gray fleece blanket, I silently cried.
Rachel's soothing voice came through my earphones. "Release. Many of you here tonight are lightworkers. You have been absorbing things from the collective that are not yours. You can release."
As the gong's sound waves reached the shores of my ear drums and reverberated throughout my body I let out a silent scream.
Dear Humans,
As part of my mission to bring love and light to you in dark times, I’ve created the Real Human newsletter.
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It will be a regular source of inspiration and life tips, gathered and written with love. My goal is to publish weekly. Why? Because the world is changing so quickly, and I want to help people like you find a sense of normalcy. At a time when anxiety and stress are rising weekly, I felt the calling to match my efforts to bring light to keep pace.
When was the last time you had to begin all over again?
For me, it was last year when I boarded a one-way flight from San Francisco to Berlin. Alone and nervous. Ready yet still so naive.
I arrived on a crisp November day with two pieces of luggage, a broken heart from losing my mom to cancer, and a too-thin jacket from California. As I stepped through the falling leaves, teeth chattering in the cold, I thought to myself “Holy shit, it’s finally happening.…
Hi, nice to meet you. I’m Jenn. 🙂 Today, I’m stepping out as a Unified Self.
What does that mean? It means that I’m authentically integrating all the different aspects of myself, and sharing the whole human being for the world to see.
Before, I felt a bit segmented. The different parts of my life were compartmentalized into neat little boxes. For years, when I was working in corporate, I felt like I had to split between a Work Me and a Personal Life Me.…