I’m back to talk more about my plans for the new year. It’s been over four years since my medical crisis, so it’s past time to actually think about my life (since I still have one).
Today, I want to talk about something that I think will be impossible to find, and then try to find a way to make it possible. Before I do that, though, I want to give some background (because of course I do).
When I was last in therapy two decades ago, I was talking to my therapist about my frustrations with talking to people. I told her how I twisted myself into knots trying to explain my point of view and getting more frustrated when I could not make the other person understand where I was coming from. I viewed it as something wrong with me,, and it was doubly frustrating because being good with words was supposed to be my thing. So was being empathetic. The latter I could still show, but would not get in return.
My therapist said briskly, “Minna, they think and talk on a level two*. You are more like a level four or five. They literally can’t understand you.”
That hit me over the head like a two-by-four because I never thought of it like that. I thought if I could just find the right way to explain it, then they would surely see what I was trying to say. In addition, because of my undiagnosed neurospicy shit, I always assumed that it was my fault/problem/issue if someone could not understand me.
Realizing that it wasn’t me (at least not all the time) was such an eye opeener–and a relief. When I relayed the same convo to my brother (who also has a difficult time being understood for a variety of reasons,, including that he’s often the smartest person in the room), he had the same dumbstruck look on his face that I was sure I did when my therapist made that gem of a revelation to me.
I have a list of five or so things she’s said to me that I still refer back to often, and that is certainly one of them. Why am I bringing this up? Because it fits into what I want to say in this post. Kind of .
