I Guess This is Growing Up

I've been on the internet for a decent chunk of time now. If I had to guess, I would say about 25 years. In that time, I've spent a lot of time writing. I started writing blogs as a teenager on Xanga almost certainly before I was 13. I've always found a sense of healing in it--expressing my thoughts and being honest with the world about what's happening.

I've always been like that. I've always enjoyed some of the freedom I felt in making my thoughts known. But my relationship with that idea has changed a lot over the years. Back when Twitter first launched, there was something fun about sharing about everyday thoughts and experiences. It felt and functioned like a valve for inner stress to tweet about my upcoming algebra exam or whatever stressors in life I was dealing with. But with time, that sentiment changed. I realized that people probably don't actually care about those mundane of details in my life. So, over time I changed my tweeting approach and favored cryptic messages. In a way, the thoughts weren't for anyone else--they were for me. I would always know what I meant by them, so when I wanted to go back in time and explore them, I was confident I'd know what I was referring to. Then, I deleted Twitter altogether once it went private and changed ownership.

But there were other places on the internet I've continued to write. Somewhere out there lie some of my old college essays - elsewhere is an entirely separate blog where I discussed my experience deconverting from Christianity. Fragments and memories of what feels like a past life.

Last November, I made a very hard decision in my life: I decided I would no longer speak to my parents. At the time, it felt like it was a response to the recent political turn of events, but as time has gone on, I've come to understand it's much deeper. It's tied back to a world system I can no longer understand or identify with. It comes from a place of emotional and mental abuse, where I was expected to conform with being or behaving a certain way, and failing to do so was met with a type of punishment, guilt, or shame.

At the time, I didn't realize that was a part of it. I only felt revolted that people who claimed to love the almighty God could throw their unquestioning support behind such a vile, repulsive, dishonest man. But over time, I've realized it's more. It's the fact that I was (or am) expected to be someone I'm not. I'm expected to be the old, devout, evangelical figure I once was, and the fact I'm not that person anymore is met by a sense of disappointment. A type of disappointment that deeply affects one's relationship with their kin who are "supposed to" love someone without condition.

I realize now that I will never be accepted by them on my own terms. They will always wish I was someone different than who I presently am.

This revelation has not been the easiest to digest, but I am thankful I continue to make peace with it. For such a long time, I was completely lost in my own identity. I was frozen in time, stuck in tension between being the person I used to be and trying to be my own person. Realizing that my parents disapproved of who I was becoming, and struggling to deal with that, so I effectively kept "faking it" trying to make it work. But if there's one deeply painful lesson I've learned in life, it's that cognitive dissonance will not stay silent forever. The tension of pretending to be someone I'm not (the obedient, respectful Christian boy I was raised to be) could not co-exist with the tension of a more liberated version of my self (a respectful secularist). (The nuance is greater than this, but it's too much to unpack in this post.)

But to the point, earlier this week I had a passive encounter with one of my parents: I stumbled upon something one of them said on the internet by chance (I was positive it was them). I took this opportunity to see what other things they had to say, and was somewhat dismayed to realize that almost nothing has changed for them. They are the same as they were 9 months ago.

Conversely, I feel like I have become half of a new person in that time. With the help of my therapist, I am working through so many things that have taken my joy for life away.

This was an important revelation for me. After being a good, safe distance away from my parents and their worldview for nine months, I suddenly had a glimpse back into it, and I did not like what I saw. I was reminded of all these things that bothered me and how damaging I found so many of their talking points. I was reminded of why that worldview inspired such deep and lasting depression in me, to the point that suicide was the only relief I once wanted.

But this startling contrast forced me to realize something: I am growing. I feel like I have flourished so much as a person in these 9 months. I'm finding an inner light, joy, and freedom I haven't known since my deconversion 12 years ago. After being frozen and paralyzed in time, I am finally coming alive.

Something about this realization brought me back to my earlier roots. I found one of my old blogs from early in my deconversion process, where I routinely narrated about my inner turmoil and distress. As I read through the entries, I experienced a mixture of feelings: gratitude to have them, embarrassment to read them, but also appreciation for what they were. Those old entries captured the most difficult saga of my life: the process of losing all meaning and purpose in life, and clawing with sheer desperation to find it again.

As I read them, I clearly saw how the suffering I was going through then was me wading through some of the heavy depths of meaning making. Many years later, I'm on the other side as a survivor of the experience. Reading them made me realize that my appreciation for existentialism and meaning making was truly born in that time of my life - it paved the way for me to do what I'm doing today: writing a book on the process of meaning making to try and help guide others through the same.

The process of trying to write a book like this is positively grueling sometimes. Writing an entire book that attempts to provide clear, coherent philosophy is not easy - but I know it's worth it.

When I reflect back on my life, whether 10 months ago or 12 years ago, it is so clear to me that I have grown and I am growing. I am a stronger person today than I was back then, but I also know it's because of what happened back then. Those moments made me, and yours are making you.

Life can only be understood backwards, but it must be lived forwards. -- Kierkegaard