On being too much

\ To watch this substack via video recording - scroll to the bottom! \“Like that thing where you show someone just a little bit and they run, and then you think, wow, if just this terrified you—the tip of a feather—how am I supposed to open up entire wings? If I’m already so alone with this useless human face pressed over mine to make you more comfortable, how bad will it get if I show you my nonhuman faces?”— Dear Senthuran: A Black Spirit Memoir by Akwaeke EmeziWhen I see a child throw a tantrum or cry really big, my instinct is now to tear up and want to hold them so close. Not necessarily to comfort them, but to assure them that it’s ok for them to feel big and be seen.Because that’s what I want as a 35 year old.Just yesterday I was video chatting with my sister and my nibling who is 1.5 years old. My nibling was eating a muffin, and when my sister went to help peel the wrapper off - it was over. Their little glorious face contorted to be the most pained face, instant tears, a loud cry, cheeks red with rage. It became very clear very fast that they didn’t my sister to peel the wrapper - either they wanted to do it or just eat the muffin with the risk of paper in the mouth. As i was watching this unfold, tears came into my eyes, because I know what it’s like to feel my agency being taken from me. I relished in this new human to express that quickly and vulnerably. What would it be like for me to be soft like a toddler? With my most beloved chosen family. I’m not even sure if I’m soft like that with myself.[Photo: that’s 8 year old me in the orange shirt at my sister’s 5 year old bday.]I remember when I was probably 8 or 9 years old writing in my journal in the dark corner of my bedroom that I have chosen to shut myself off from my emotions. It was a clear moment where I found a spell that I can summon anytime. When I willed it to activate, it created this impenetrable bubble where everything was muffled on the outside, and everything was ok on the inside. The only thing I needed to abide to, is not to react to anything on the outside of the bubble or the spell wouldn’t work.I wrote in my locket journal that if I was able to shut off my feelings, everything could slip off me. It won’t hurt! In those next years, I perfected nonchalance. A kind of non reactivity. Sometimes I fell for the trap, and I let it all go at the same time - but for the most part my new spell was key to feeling agency again.When my mother would rage and lose all control, I would look at her blankly and continue to do what I was doing without batting an eye. That would set her off more, and I knew that. I put myself on a pedestal (as much as a 7 year old could) high enough to see her exploding in her own suffering and thinking that I would never: it’s so embarrassing to lose yourself like that.That loneliness echoes in me to this day. I’ve never been socially alone (thank god). Throughout the seasons, I’ve found community - even though in hindsight many of the “communities” have been shallow as hell.But that kind of loneliness to myself within myself is such a distinct flavor.I’m reading Dear Senthuran by Akwaeke Emezi right now and it is HITTING. I’m only 40% through the book, but it’s clear what the themes are. Emezi writes so rawly and so other wordly about what it takes to be honest with ourselves and each other in relationship, in creating, in resisting, and in being. “For people who live in the knuckles with sixty-seven faces, it’s not really about pretending to be people you’re not. It’s more about having faces for all the things you already are—blurred spaces, trickster mobility.”Their take on code switching or mask wearing is so refreshing.As a child, I had to put on that mask and summon that bubble to survive. To cope. It was the face that kept me the safest.The past 15 years has been learning to take that mask off when I’m alone, and then also dipping my toe into taking that mask off in front of people I choose.When I read the quote at the top of this post, I physically stopped doing the dishes and had to listen and read it again. It’s what I’ve been talking to my dear ones recently! There have been so many people in my life who I thought were for me, and when I showed them a flicker of my heart, they ran away. Too harsh. Too fixed. Too sure. Too much.What do you mean???? I didn’t even go hard. I didn’t even show the breadth of how I feel and how I can create and how I can expand!! If you can’t handle that little bit, it’s clear you can’t handle me at all.I’m so tired of bending and wearing masks. I can and will do it to survive, but I’m tired.Healing for me is to create enough space within myself to be huge and to feel big.With my babe, I’ve shown glimpses of my real emotions that I’ve never shown a partner. It’s scary. Because I can feel my inner child watch and squint…”we don’t do that.” “We don’t cry in front of people.” “We don’t show them our tenderness.” “We don’t get angry and show it.” Healing is developing trust within myself that I can be big, and not hurt or harm anyone. I can express my feelings and not say things I don’t mean. I can fill the room, and still make space for people who have earned my trust.I’m still scared of being accused that I’m too much.The thing that keeps me rooted is that when someone says I’m too much, most likely they are just confessing their own fears.I have matured enough to know that I can never wait for people’s permission to pursue what I want to see in my life, in community, in our world. As an Asian femme, I know too well what people expect me to be like. If followed that, I would be married to a white man with children, church going, have no stance on anything, a liberal, and my spirit would be dead.Another aspect about letting people see a glimpse of me, is that it attracts people who want to extract from me. My people and I talk about this ALL THE TIME, because it happens to us ALL THE TIME. People want to get close, because I reflect something they want to acknowledge in themselves - like honest creativity. But the moment that they are confronted about the cost it takes to be honestly creative, they attack (or leave). As if I am the source of why they are not living into their potential. As if I am the reason they aren’t ready to pay the price.No thanks.What does Liberatory Imagination spark in me today?Where we [Black + brown folks] can feel deeply, express it, and be safe. It is an honor to be big in how we feel, in the joy, fear, rage, bliss. It is an honor to witness it. White supremacy has stolen so much. I want us to wrap our younger selves in our arms and tell them it’s ok to be big and to feel big. We will nourish them to feel safe with their emotions and teach them that they aren’t their emotions. They ebb and flow. There is enough space.How to support me (thank you in advance):Currently, I’m in between jobs and would appreciate any support you can afford.* Subscribe for free (all my posts will be available to the public), but set up a monthly or annual recurring payment with me directly on venmo - @tiffanywongart. Attach the note “Recurring substack subscription.”* Buy me a cup of coffee. Every bit counts! You can venmo me at @tiffanywongartwith note “coffee from substack!”LIBERATORY IMAGINATION is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. Get full access to LIBERATORY IMAGINATION at tiffanywongart.substack.com/subscribe