There are things we can’t talk about with others. Not even with our friends and family. We may try, but we can’t. What do we do about them?
Painful things. Or shameful things. Things that undermine our sense of self. That hurt our ego. That shake our confidence and our hope in a good future.
Things that happened to us. Or things that never happened to us but we wish we did. Or things that we fear will happen to us. Or things that we know will happen to us and we can’t avoid them. Embarrassing things. Unpleasant things.
Things deep inside us that sometimes rise to our throat, begin to form words. But they are heavy things, and they fall back down. Even when we try to let them out, we never get too far. Not far enough, at least.
It’s not just that talking about them is so hard. But we’re not sure they’d understand. And then the distance between them and us would feel even greater.
Your mother gave birth to you. But she may not understand. Your lover or spouse loves you. But he or she may not understand. Your child is a part of you, flesh of your flesh, but your child may not understand.
Things not said – things you only say to yourself over and over again, but not to anyone else. Things that can be poisonous or harmful, that damage you in insidious ways. That can even make you sick.
What do you do about these things? Will a psychologist really understand? Would talking to one be good for your mind? Maybe.
But can a human being really understand another human being? Can it feel the same way? Can there ever be more than a acceptance and, at times, sympathy?
But there is someone you can talk with about anything. Someone who always understands. Actually, “someone” doesn’t describe it. It’s not another human being. It’s “you”.
Because “you” is not really you. “You” is only one side of your being. It’s the part that understands, and that you understand. That relates to other people.
You can tell “you” anything. You go to “you” when you can’t go to anyone else. You tell “you” things not said.
“You” may dislike you, may criticize you, may make you do things, may even make thinking hard for you. But “you” always listens.
You don’t hide things not said from yourself. Even if they’re painful or frightening. You bring them to mind. You recognize them.
“You” won’t give you solutions. “You” is only like earth that soaks up the rain. It takes what you throw at it. It comforts just by being that — a fertile ground from which things can sprout. Sometimes weeds will sprout, sometimes grass. Sometimes flowers.
“You” can take the things nobody else can take. You can meet “you” in your mind, anytime you want. You can also meet “you” on paper, every time you write. “You” can listen, and “you” can read.
All those things not said, for which words and even gestures aren’t enough, you can bring them up when “you” is around. “You” will understand. “You” will make you feel better.