the mortifying ordeal of being known
but also, sometimes, it’s kind of nice?
hi,
there’s a quote from a 2013 new york times essay by tim kreider that went viral a few years ago: “if we want the rewards of being loved, we have to submit to the mortifying ordeal of being known.”
tumblr did what tumblr does—it paired the quote with cursed and tender images and turned it into a meme. now, it’s the perfect shorthand for the human condition: desperately craving connection whilst simultaneously wanting to crawl under a rock if someone looks too closely.
so let’s talk about it.
the glass shell
over the years, i’ve noticed something about myself: i’ve become more private. not in a mysterious, alluring dark feminine way—just in a “no thank you” way.
it wasn’t always like this. at 13, i was spilling my guts online, writing melodramatic diary posts, and shitposting on 4 different twitter accounts for whoever might stumble across them. the internet back then was a chaotic, lawless place where usernames were untraceable and everything felt disposable. i could say things i’d never say in real life, share parts of myself i’d never share face-to-face. and if it ever got too much? i could log off, delete the post, disappear. vulnerability was easy when you were young and nobody could tie it back to you.
there’s a concept from neon genesis evangelion that keeps coming back to me: the absolute terror field, or a.t. field. it’s both a literal force field that keeps others out and a painfully poetic metaphor for holding people at arm’s length while you huddle behind your emotional barricades.
neon genesis evangelion (1995-1996)somewhere along the way, my a.t. field kicked in, hard. maybe it was when i got my first “big girl” job, or when the big socials™ started connecting all my platforms to “people you may know.” now, instagram is the only platform i bother with—ten posts in the last two years and weekly stories so curated they might as well come with a production budget.
embarrassment is part of it, sure. who wants their coworkers knowing they once ran a k-pop tumblr with a very questionable username and dabbled in angsty poetry? but it’s not just about hiding the sins of my past and present.
like gollum clutching his precious ring, i became oddly protective of the parts of myself that never see the light of day. not because they’re particularly shiny or special, but because they’re mine.
but then i wonder: at what point does “keeping it safe” turn into “hoarding-it-in-a-cave-whilst-losing-my-grip-on-reality”?
are you afraid you’ll disappear if no one’s watching?
lately, i’ve been wondering what it feels like to want to be seen. to willingly step into the spotlight and let people look. there’s a part of me that craves it—the part that still wants to put myself out there, even if it’s messy, awkward, or incomplete.
but there’s also the part that panics at the first sign of attention. quick, distract them! point to someone cooler, smarter, with better stories to tell! it’s a constant pendulum swing between “look at me!” and “please, god, don’t.”
there’s a strange kind of whiplash that comes with abandonment issues. you crave attention, validation, love—but the moment you get it, you’re terrified it’ll be taken away. this, i think, is why i became so good at curating myself online. every instagram post, every blog entry, every angsty tweet was a version of me—carefully edited to feel honest, but never too honest.
to be truly seen, though, is to be reminded that i’m still here. it’s proof of life, even on the days when i’d rather not be reminded of it.
embarrassment is the cost of entry
i read this on reddit once, and it stuck with me: “embarrassment is the cost of entry.” every time i try something new, i picture a tiny tollbooth in my brain. the toll collector leans out and asks, “will this be paid in public humiliation or private shame?”
but surely, there’s another way. “is, perhaps, delulu truly the solulu?” feels like a fair question when i see people posting the most unhinged things online without a second thought. yet here i am, proofreading myself into oblivion.
so why not me? we’re spinning on a dying planet, mother earth is literally on fire, and one day, all of this will collapse into cosmic dust. really, what’s the harm in just trying?
trying isn’t graceful. it’s messy, clumsy, and full of trembling hands. but isn’t trembling still movement?
there’s always the risk of being misunderstood. but there’s also the chance someone will look at you and think, “same.” maybe the magic is in finding the space where hell and hope collide.
don't wait for it," i said. "create a world, your world. alone. stand alone. and then love will come to you, then it comes to you. it was only when i wrote my first book that the world i wanted to live in opened to me.”
anaïs nin, the diary of anaïs nin, vol. 1: 1931-1934
an invitation, if you want it
as part of the “new year, new me” tradition of making promises i may or may not keep, i’ve decided to resurrect my blogging self. not for the world, but for me—for the version of me who once posted with reckless abandon, wearing her heart on her sleeve and occasionally tripping over it.
so here i am, ready to wobble, overshare, and fumble in front of the gods, the algorithms, and the group chats. some things will stay private. some things will be messy. some things will be both. that feels like a good place to start.
but enough about me. what about you? what’s the thing you’d try if embarrassment wasn’t holding you hostage? painting a self-portrait? starting that niche youtube channel about bird-watching? signing up for salsa lessons? finally telling someone the thing that’s been lodged in your throat for months?
whatever it is, i hope you try. and if it all goes sideways, you’ll have a great story to share.
neon genesis evangelion (1995-1996)warmest hugs,
mimi ♡