Walk Around With Secrets or Stay At Home With The Truth?
For some reason or other, I have been telling myself that I should write this blog in Finnish. The name is in Finnish, most of my readers are in Finland, and it just makes more sense.
And it also doesn't. Because of me. See, I am not Finnish.
I live in Finland, but Finnish is only my second language. It's a language that I have used more than any other one, but when it comes to writing, my language of choice has always been English.
I started writing when I was 10 years old. At first I wrote almost exclusively in Finnish with a little Russian here and there. But when I was about 14 years old, my interest in the English language blossomed so much so (thank you, J.K. Rowling!) that I started reading and writing almost exclusively in English. At first it must have been very difficult, but I enjoyed it so much that I didn't even notice! Maybe it never was difficult for me.
The first book that I read in English - aside from Harry Potter - was Margaret Atwood's The Handmaid's Tale. I was fifteen years old, and the novel impressed me both thematically and linguistically. I was deeply shocked and moved by the story. I had to look up every other word in the dictionary, but I was thrilled nonetheless.
It has been one of the deepest and most moving reading experiences of my life (so far). The fact that I was sick with a really bad flu also had a part to play. I was delirious to the point of having visions, and together the novel and my mental state created one of the most unforgettable weeks of my life.
It saddens me to think how few and far between these experiences are - especially now that my life and my brain is filled with so much information that I don't have time to feel. Of course, it's my choice, albeit not a conscious one.
As we speak I'm having another profound reading experience. I'm reading Clarissa Pinkola Estés' Women Who Run With The Wolves - a deep, poetic and empowering work about what it really means to be a woman.
In a way, it's a mirror of The Handmaid's Tale. Women owned and women freed. Yin to yang. Two sides of the same coin. Shadow and light.
Maybe I have also walked a full circle, as is reflected by reading these books. As a fifteen-year-old, I was trapped as a woman, and now as a 32-year-old, I'm breaking free as a woman.
I don't think it's an accident that I read these books in English. To me, English is a language that reaches somewhere deep, to my soul, and from the soul. When I sent e-mails to potential psychotherapists, the ones that I wrote in English got much kinder responses than the ones I'd written in Finnish.
I don't want to go into reasons why Finnish feels like a harsh language for me. I'm sure there is deep unresolved childhood trauma in there somewhere.
Russian... I almost can't even speak about Russian. It's the language of my deepest essence, my deepest core and truth. The meaning behind those words are so deeply intimate to me that they take on full worlds in my mind. It's a language that can trigger the shit out of me, and a language that can heal my deepest wounds.
I recently got a tattoo. Coincidentally I ended up in a tattoo parlour where both tattoo artists who worked there on that day were Russian or at least speaking Russian. My correspondence with my tattoo artist had been in Finnish. I suspected that she might be Russian, but I decided that I would continue communicating in Finnish. I though she might ask because of my name, but she didn't.
In case she asked, I had an answer prepared. "I understand Russian well," I would tell her, "but because I've lived in Finland for 28 years, I don't feel confident to speak it. I only use it when speaking to my closest family members." I had planned to leave out the fact that I was terrified of speaking it to "strangers" in case I made a mistake or didn't understand something they said. Truth is, I am ashamed of my not-so-perfect Russian skills and I'm scared of being ostracised or excluded because of it. (Ironically leaving out the possibility to be included as well.)
I was inked in almost complete silence. I was breathing through the pain while voices from a TV Corona virus programme drifted in and out of my ears, and thinking...
I was thinking how much I have been hurt by words. Of all languages. I was thinking how much I enjoy silence, because if you don't say anything, you can't hurt someone. (Unless you hurt them by omission.) I was thinking of my quiet Finnish husband-to-be, and the possibility that maybe our relationship works partially because he doesn't say much, leaving the door wide open for demonstrations of love through actions instead of words.
Then an interesting thought occurred to me. Maybe I could handle human interaction if I didn't speak so much, reveal so much. It might border on inauthenticity, but the thought is still slightly thrilling. If you don't say much, people who you're communicating with can't really push you away. They have nothing to push against.
I tend to avoid human interaction, because I'm so scared of getting hurt. But as I was lying on that tattoo parlour bed in silence, and thinking of my partner who doesn't use so many words to communicate, I was genuinely curious about the idea of getting more connection through speaking less.
Problem is, I don't know if it can be done, because I have a serious issue with keeping things from people. (More childhood trauma to be unraveled.) You know how if you're talking with someone and you know that their opinion on something clashes with your opinion about it? I have an issue with conflict. I can't contain the difference in opinion as well as amicable interaction. In those situations I feel like I have to bring up the issue and see where we stand. I can't just not mention it. I feel like I know about the conflict but they probably don't. And it's only a matter of time before they find out. And when they find out, they will reject me.
I avoid people when I know that I have a conflict with them. That's too uncomfortable for me. I have no experiences of someone with a conflicting opinion telling me, "Your position is valuable. I respect your position. I understand your position." I feel like the message is always, "I don't understand you. You're weird. I reject you. Go away."
I once got a tattoo from a very talkative person. Throughout the process we talked about many things. There was some connection, but there were also triggers and conflicts. I opened up and I shared about me, but now I wouldn't want to see that person again, because I felt rejected in some sense and I still feel hurt by them.
With this recent tattoo artist, there was barely any talking. Result? If I see her on the street, I will smile and wave. I'm not afraid. She hasn't rejected me. I haven't given her the chance.
Is this better or worse? Is it better to bare your soul and get rejected straightaway, or not share so much and keep people's connection for longer? Is it real connection if you don't bare your soul?
Is a friend your real friend only after you've discussed and compared your deepest values? Can you be good, close friends with someone whose opinions on some matters are drastically different than yours? Can you talk about those issues and respect and understand the other person's opinion?
Do you keep your opinions to yourself if you know that everyone else disagrees? Or do you let everyone know and search for similar minded people? Do people around you, who disagree with you, respect you nonetheless?
Is it better to walk around with secrets? Or stay at home with the truth?
Why am I the one who is under pressure to stay silent anyway?
And it also doesn't. Because of me. See, I am not Finnish.
I live in Finland, but Finnish is only my second language. It's a language that I have used more than any other one, but when it comes to writing, my language of choice has always been English.
I started writing when I was 10 years old. At first I wrote almost exclusively in Finnish with a little Russian here and there. But when I was about 14 years old, my interest in the English language blossomed so much so (thank you, J.K. Rowling!) that I started reading and writing almost exclusively in English. At first it must have been very difficult, but I enjoyed it so much that I didn't even notice! Maybe it never was difficult for me.
The first book that I read in English - aside from Harry Potter - was Margaret Atwood's The Handmaid's Tale. I was fifteen years old, and the novel impressed me both thematically and linguistically. I was deeply shocked and moved by the story. I had to look up every other word in the dictionary, but I was thrilled nonetheless.
It has been one of the deepest and most moving reading experiences of my life (so far). The fact that I was sick with a really bad flu also had a part to play. I was delirious to the point of having visions, and together the novel and my mental state created one of the most unforgettable weeks of my life.
It saddens me to think how few and far between these experiences are - especially now that my life and my brain is filled with so much information that I don't have time to feel. Of course, it's my choice, albeit not a conscious one.
As we speak I'm having another profound reading experience. I'm reading Clarissa Pinkola Estés' Women Who Run With The Wolves - a deep, poetic and empowering work about what it really means to be a woman.
In a way, it's a mirror of The Handmaid's Tale. Women owned and women freed. Yin to yang. Two sides of the same coin. Shadow and light.
Maybe I have also walked a full circle, as is reflected by reading these books. As a fifteen-year-old, I was trapped as a woman, and now as a 32-year-old, I'm breaking free as a woman.
I don't think it's an accident that I read these books in English. To me, English is a language that reaches somewhere deep, to my soul, and from the soul. When I sent e-mails to potential psychotherapists, the ones that I wrote in English got much kinder responses than the ones I'd written in Finnish.
I don't want to go into reasons why Finnish feels like a harsh language for me. I'm sure there is deep unresolved childhood trauma in there somewhere.
Russian... I almost can't even speak about Russian. It's the language of my deepest essence, my deepest core and truth. The meaning behind those words are so deeply intimate to me that they take on full worlds in my mind. It's a language that can trigger the shit out of me, and a language that can heal my deepest wounds.
I recently got a tattoo. Coincidentally I ended up in a tattoo parlour where both tattoo artists who worked there on that day were Russian or at least speaking Russian. My correspondence with my tattoo artist had been in Finnish. I suspected that she might be Russian, but I decided that I would continue communicating in Finnish. I though she might ask because of my name, but she didn't.
In case she asked, I had an answer prepared. "I understand Russian well," I would tell her, "but because I've lived in Finland for 28 years, I don't feel confident to speak it. I only use it when speaking to my closest family members." I had planned to leave out the fact that I was terrified of speaking it to "strangers" in case I made a mistake or didn't understand something they said. Truth is, I am ashamed of my not-so-perfect Russian skills and I'm scared of being ostracised or excluded because of it. (Ironically leaving out the possibility to be included as well.)
I was inked in almost complete silence. I was breathing through the pain while voices from a TV Corona virus programme drifted in and out of my ears, and thinking...
I was thinking how much I have been hurt by words. Of all languages. I was thinking how much I enjoy silence, because if you don't say anything, you can't hurt someone. (Unless you hurt them by omission.) I was thinking of my quiet Finnish husband-to-be, and the possibility that maybe our relationship works partially because he doesn't say much, leaving the door wide open for demonstrations of love through actions instead of words.
Then an interesting thought occurred to me. Maybe I could handle human interaction if I didn't speak so much, reveal so much. It might border on inauthenticity, but the thought is still slightly thrilling. If you don't say much, people who you're communicating with can't really push you away. They have nothing to push against.
 |
| Photo: Kristina Flour, Unsplash |
I tend to avoid human interaction, because I'm so scared of getting hurt. But as I was lying on that tattoo parlour bed in silence, and thinking of my partner who doesn't use so many words to communicate, I was genuinely curious about the idea of getting more connection through speaking less.
Problem is, I don't know if it can be done, because I have a serious issue with keeping things from people. (More childhood trauma to be unraveled.) You know how if you're talking with someone and you know that their opinion on something clashes with your opinion about it? I have an issue with conflict. I can't contain the difference in opinion as well as amicable interaction. In those situations I feel like I have to bring up the issue and see where we stand. I can't just not mention it. I feel like I know about the conflict but they probably don't. And it's only a matter of time before they find out. And when they find out, they will reject me.
I avoid people when I know that I have a conflict with them. That's too uncomfortable for me. I have no experiences of someone with a conflicting opinion telling me, "Your position is valuable. I respect your position. I understand your position." I feel like the message is always, "I don't understand you. You're weird. I reject you. Go away."
I once got a tattoo from a very talkative person. Throughout the process we talked about many things. There was some connection, but there were also triggers and conflicts. I opened up and I shared about me, but now I wouldn't want to see that person again, because I felt rejected in some sense and I still feel hurt by them.
With this recent tattoo artist, there was barely any talking. Result? If I see her on the street, I will smile and wave. I'm not afraid. She hasn't rejected me. I haven't given her the chance.
Is this better or worse? Is it better to bare your soul and get rejected straightaway, or not share so much and keep people's connection for longer? Is it real connection if you don't bare your soul?
Is a friend your real friend only after you've discussed and compared your deepest values? Can you be good, close friends with someone whose opinions on some matters are drastically different than yours? Can you talk about those issues and respect and understand the other person's opinion?
Do you keep your opinions to yourself if you know that everyone else disagrees? Or do you let everyone know and search for similar minded people? Do people around you, who disagree with you, respect you nonetheless?
Is it better to walk around with secrets? Or stay at home with the truth?
Why am I the one who is under pressure to stay silent anyway?
 |
| Photo: Jen Theodore, Unsplash |
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