Why do I feel so misunderstood?

Why do I always feel like this?

My smile melts off of me with all the freedom that comes from being able to let my face express whatever feelings are underneath.

More of a frown now.

Not because I’m sad.

Am I sad?

I don’t know.

Unhappy?

Maybe.

Empty?

Hollow.

And it’s not like I don’t try.

I do.

I put myself out there.

Ask the questions.

Really listen and try to connect.

And hope to feel it.

Hope to feel understood.

Like someone gets it.

Gets me.

That maybe my life, my feelings, my inner world aren’t the only ones like this.

Maybe it’s normal.

Do I want it to be normal?

I think I just want to feel like I belong somewhere.

Like there’s a reason for why I’m feeling this way.

To not feel like such a weirdo when I go places.

To feel like I fit.

And don’t have to fake it.

Instead, my face muscles strain under the pressure of keeping the corners turned up.

If anyone really looked, would they see?

Would they see the emptiness?

The loneliness?

The deep desire to feel met where I am?

I want to give that to other people.

I want to be there for them the way I want people to be there for me.

Not because I want a trade.

Though that would be nice.

But because I don’t want anyone else feeling this aloneness.

It’s painful.

And sometimes it feels never-ending.

Like nobody has ever understood.

So I start looking for the thing I must be doing wrong.

Is it how I talk?

Do I listen enough?

Do I ask the right questions?

Do I express my own stuff okay?

Am I doing something wrong?

Is there something I’m missing?

[What could be underneath this? [free 2-minute quiz]]

Have I always felt like this?

I feel like I have.

But I know feelings like this are deceptive.

They always make me think I’ve always felt this way.

When I haven’t.

Not always.

Often.

Frequently.

Almost always.

Fine.

But there have been moments.

Even small ones.

When I felt like someone really understood.

And that feels important.

I just wish I felt it more.

So, naturally, I start looking for the pattern.

Something I can fix.

Work on.

Do.

But what if it’s not me?

What if it’s the people I’m trying to get to understand me?

Why can’t the people I want to understand me...

understand me?

I don’t know.

And I hate it.

Because if it’s something I’m doing wrong, at least I can fix it.

If it isn’t?

Well.

That also kind of sucks.

Who have I felt understood by?

What were they like?

I remember feeling guilty.

Like I was burdening them or taking advantage.

But it also felt good.

Like maybe I’m not so weird.

I’m okay being weird, but, you know—

not the ostracized kind.

Maybe I haven’t found my people yet.

Maybe my people don’t exist.

Maybe they like to hermit as much as I do.

How will we ever meet?

But they could be out there.

I don’t know.

And then I wonder if maybe I don't need someone to fully understand me.

Maybe it isn't actually about being perfectly understood.

Maybe I want to feel understood.

Like someone cares.

Like I matter.

Like I'm okay how I am.

But I'm also okay to change.

Acceptance?

Maybe.

Or maybe there's something else underneath all of this that I haven't been able to put words to yet.

I don't know.

But I think that's the part I want to understand.

-Julia

Therapist for the Tired but Trying