Reviving Ophelia

It has been a while since I’ve last written, for a number of reasons. It’s been a time of change, and a time of returning to solidity in myself and giving myself permission to be alone and to not feel guilty for wanting to be the subject of my own life rather than an object in others’. That’s something strange to wrap your head around. Realizing that you see yourself as playing roles in someone else’s movie, or always putting others comfort and happiness first. I want to be the star in the movie of my life.

Lately there’s been a lot of things going on that I don’t really understand. I was talking with a friend yesterday, and phone sex for one- I don’t understand that, or the game of cricket perhaps- not a hope in figuring out that one, and ultimately one of the biggest and most cliched puzzles- relationships. I’ve been watching myself and my friends lately in our attempts to make sense of our relationships and where we fit in the world. A lot of these conflicts seem to have arisen from the battle that seems relatively engendered in the cultural construct of being an adult female; the struggle between the heavily weighted goal of pleasing others, versus what feels necessary for our own autonomous happiness. The battle occurs when the two fail to overlap or match, and it’s no wonder- they are not a mirrored pair. Serving one of these goals means shirking the other and vice versa.

I know for myself and my loved ones- our relationships are extremely important to us, and I worry at times, perhaps too important. I know that all humans essentially want to be loved and have their needs met, however what becomes risky and dangerous is how we’ll find ourselves defining who we are by others’ reflection of us, and by how pleasing we are, and how much love we receive and from who. It’s a scary realization to find yourself measuring your own success or inherent value by how people respond to you- and realizing that the parts of yourself that people don’t respond fondly to, just get squelched and hidden- even though they are all part of what makes you a whole, multi-dimensional person. And what kind of impact does that mean then if you’re scraping to have your needs met, and at the same time swallowing some of those needs and pretending as though they don’t exist? It’s no surprise then to become starved for validation and approval. It’s like we beg each other “Please let it be ok for me to be who I am, and please show me that I deserve love by loving me.” It’s a huge burden to put on anyone and a terrifying way to live life. I’m trying to understand how to shift that value to being self-defined, however I have yet to discover how that is done successfully.

I’ve been reading the Twilight series of books aimed at teen girls, written by Stephenie Meyer, as they’ve become a huge cultural phenomenon. I’m very concerned with the notion violence and love being inextricably linked that she sells along with the warped, flat image of what a quality female looks like. Knowing that on a cognitive level, reading fiction molds our brains and impacts our empathy- changing us on some level with every book read, this flares a great deal of distaste in me. It’s clear that many people feel strongly that books, media, TV, movies, and so forth don’t really impact us because we have the sense to know they aren’t real. However, the science tells us that these things do have their influence, and perhaps the impact comes in covert ways that are not as obvious to us as we hungrily consume more and insist we can handle it.

This is something I’m interested in not just on a personal level, though it certainly is something that is pertinent to my immediate well-being and life. My passion for psychology is largely just passion for understanding how people (and myself of course) really work, and understanding why and how. My goals have always been to seek the truest sense of happiness I can find, one that is as genuine and honest as possible, so where better to start in figuring out who I am on a most sincere, unfettered level.