I am a very private person. Private in the obvious sense that I don’t like sharing too many details of my personal life, but also private in the sense that I do not show easily if something is bothering me. I don't make a fuss if plans change at the last minute, even though I have a hard time handling changes to fixed plans. I am very quick to laugh things off and process in private. At dinner, I prefer to ask the other person questions and get to know them on a deeper level than to talk about myself.
I realised that I take pride in how little space I take up, or how I measure my emotional maturity by how few problems I cause the people around me. I tell myself that this makes me a good friend, a good partner, or a ‘good adult’. I tell myself that it makes me easy to love. And that is the exact reason that I want to explore this topic even more.
Let’s rewind the clock
I became a mom pretty early in my twenties, so when it comes to comparing my twenties to my thirties, I look at the time before I had my daughter; for me, the decade changed when my daughter arrived. Because during those times it was impossible to avoid getting close with someone. Bonding over crappy jobs, the infamous girls’ bathrooms at the nightclub; a friend of a friend was my friend too. Intimacy was fast, messy, and loud.
Then came the thirties. Which for me feels like it started as soon as I became a mom. But what I see in my thirties everywhere is that the schedules have become more fixed, and careers have taken off. Some friends have kids, some have gotten married.
Everybody is juggling their own invisible stress, and sharing raw, unresolved messiness can truly feel like an inconvenience.
We compress our complex, heavy realities into quick 5-minute updates: very high-level and very bland. You can be sitting in a group chat with eight of your closest friends, notifications buzzing every few seconds, and feel super alone.
So why do we do this? Why do we mute the mess and curate only the interesting stuff? Why don’t we prefer to keep things smooth around the edges?
What I have noticed with myself is that when I only show people the smoothed version of my lived experiences, I create a wall, and it becomes super difficult to truly connect. It’s almost as if the people around are more trained to only relate to what I consider convenient. And now it’s expected to stay unbothered.
I will handle my mess alone,
and in exchange, you will keep loving me
There is a true difference between fitting in and belonging in a space. And when you have altered and stripped away to become more comfortable, it actually becomes uncomfortable. Friendship, relationship, or a social circle can become feeling foreign. Those same relationships we wanted to protect have dried out.
With this realisation, the goal changed for me personally. The more I share, the more I realise that so much of the fear was just a guess. I have noticed it with this newsletter and also in daily life. Once you show people the full picture, some either lean in or drift off. The beauty of it is that either way it tells you more than an ‘edited’ version of you ever could.
Next week: Intimacy after pregnancy: Five things that I would have done differently
Next Sunday, we are moving on to the next domain: love and desire. What to expect?
What happens when everything looks the same after pregnancy but feels completely different, and the first time we have sex again feels like the first time all over again?
Why do we rush towards what we think intimacy needs to feel and look exactly like it was before?
The impact of what we wear, explore our bodies on our own terms, and get curious about how we want to be loved?
Thank you for being here ♡. Every week I write for women who are curious about their own lives: the roles they carry, the pressure they’re handed, and women who prioritise themselves just as much.
Each issue: Things that inspire me, a reframe, and one honest question that is worth sitting with.
If you need to get in touch with me, send me a private message here on Substack or via email at hello@orangeandkin.com.