Curiosity, My Old Friend

Is the fog lifting? Can you hear me again?

I've been waiting. It's been a solid 6 months since I've felt curiosity urging me forward. For me, curiosity isn't just a temporary state, it's a character trait. It speaks to a part of me that allows the work to happen. It allows me to look at the most ugly and unspeakable things with a sense of openness and wonder . . . an unquenchable desire to dive into the darkest of holes to see what's inside - to show that they're not so scary after all, and that they just need to be explored. Without the driving force of curiosity behind the system, we would never ask why do I feel this way, who played a role, why does this happen, where does it come from, and how do we improve it? Once I feel that initial spark, reading books and listening to podcasts or audiobooks are the things that fuel curiosity and allow the writer to put thoughts on the page, freeing my mind of the growing weight they create. Yet for 6 months, that spark didn't ignite. The thoughts began piling up, crushing one another. Week after week, I'd show up to therapy, saddened by my lack of ability to show up for myself in these simple ways. Listening to or reading something helpful isn't a difficult decision to make, yet at times it feels as if there's a wall keeping me from allowing my mind and eyes to be open wide. I try to see past it, but I just can't. I retreat in defeat to the unstimulating white noise of tv shows that stop curiosity dead in its tracks. When I don't show up for myself and lean in to the work, I struggle - hard. I feel stuck with nowhere to go. I become paranoid. I feel sad, scared, and hopeless. I isolate myself from others. I let things slip through my fingers to the point they feel unreachable. I feel unable to communicate in ways that foster meaningful connection. I begin to question everything and doubt my ability to find a way out or through. I become frustrated with myself and angry. I cry, a lot, as most days bring more than I can handle emotionally, and I become easily overwhelmed. In the weeds and on my way to blown, all too often. Without healthy outlets to engage with and express myself, I lose sight of what's possible. I lose the parts of myself that help make me feel alive and well. I don't yet know what allowed me to do so, but the spark ignited and I finally saw past the wall. I had been pacing back and forth, stuck in this dark corridor for months, and I finally found my way out. Rather than listening to the wonderfully amusing Mysterious Universe podcast that usually entertains me during screen cleaning, I found myself opening up Audible, typing in Atlas of the Heart, and clicking purchase. I didn't even think about it. I clicked download, and eagerly awaited the Ready to Listen prompt. In this moment, I felt so happy. As I cleaned screens and listened to Brené, I laughed and cried as she said thing after thing that resonated with me. Feeling inspired after months of anything but stimulating content, the writer began narrating, eager for this very moment. The section on Curiosity really got me, especially the following passage:

Our "childlike" curiosity is often tested as we grow up, and we sometimes learn that too much curiosity, like too much vulnerability, can lead to hurt. As a result, we turn to self-protection - choosing certainty over curiosity, armor over vulnerability, knowing over learning. But shutting down comes with a price - a price we rarely consider when we're focused on finding our way out of pain.

I am painfully aware of the price I'm paying when I'm shutting down - mentally, physically, emotionally, and financially.

Thank you Brené for yet again writing a book that perfectly puts words to the experiences we go through. Atlas of the Heart has been the exact jumpstart I needed to get back into the part of therapy work that I love so much - gaining the vocabulary and knowledge necessary to know and express myself in ways that inspire me to keep moving forward. With whatever walls that may be in your way on the path ahead, I wish you curiosity and courage to peer around each corner, and I wish you patience and grace with yourself as you find a way around them.