Here's an audio reflection I recorded using voice memos.
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Here's an audio reflection I recorded using voice memos. It discusses how to respond when someone questions your sense of self. Transcript below for anyone who cannot listen to the audio or who does not have the means.
It's the first of the month, and I want to talk about something quiet--but important.
What happens when someone challenges your sense of who you are.
Not loudly.
Not dramatically.
But subtly. With questions that sound reasonable. With concern that doesn't quite feel clean. With pauses that make you wonder if you're the unstable variable.
Here's the thing I've learned--both personally and through years of observing people, groups, and power dynamics.
When your sense of self is grounded, it often makes other people uncomfortable. Especially people who rely on consensus, hierarchy, or control to feel safe.
So they probe.
They test.
They ask you to explain yourself--not because they're curious, but because they're unsettled.
I've watched this pattern repeat across communities, workplaces, and social spaces.
When someone doesn't fit neatly into a role people recognize, the group often tries to resolve that discomfort by questioning the person instead of questioning the system.
You'll notice the questions aren't actually about understanding you better. They're about restoring a sense of order. (1/3)
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And that's an important distinction--because once you see it, you can stop mistaking social anxiety for personal failure.
There's a simple model I return to when I'm deciding whether to stay engaged with someone or step back.
Safe. Sane. Consensual.
Safe means the interaction doesn't leave you feeling destabilized, surveilled, or on edge.
Sane means there's a shared baseline reality--basic trust that each person can reliably read the other as grounded.
Consensual means access is mutual, not extracted.
Here's the part that matters most:
If someone cannot reliably tell whether you're stable or unstable, that's not a puzzle you're required to solve for them. That's information.
It's your permission to disengage.
You don't owe access to people who experience you as confusing or unsettling simply because you won't perform yourself into a box they understand.
If you're not careful, you start answering questions you don't actually owe answers to.
You start performing coherence for people who haven't earned proximity.
You start confusing visibility with accountability.
One of the most stabilizing practices I know is this:
Don't outsource your self-knowledge to people who haven't earned access to it.
If someone has known you briefly, contextually, or only through a narrow lens, their confusion is not a diagnosis. It's just confusion. (2/3)
When I check my own reality, I don't look to strangers or casual observers. I look to long-term relationships. To people who've seen me across seasons. To patterns, not moments. To my own internal consistency over time.
Identity isn't proven under interrogation.
It's revealed through continuity.
And if someone can't tell who you are without interrogating you, that doesn't mean you're unclear. It just means they don't have enough data--and they may never need to.
You are allowed to be coherent without being legible to everyone.
You are allowed to be stable without performing stability.
You are allowed to step back instead of explaining yourself into exhaustion.
If you're feeling unsettled right now, take this as permission to come back to center.
Notice where your steadiness already lives.
Notice who actually knows you.
Notice what hasn't changed, even when the noise gets loud.
That's all I wanted to say today. (3/3)
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Here's an audio reflection I recorded using voice memos. It discusses how to respond when someone questions your sense of self. Transcript below for anyone who cannot listen to the audio or who does not have the means.
It's the first of the month, and I want to talk about something quiet--but important.
What happens when someone challenges your sense of who you are.
Not loudly.
Not dramatically.
But subtly. With questions that sound reasonable. With concern that doesn't quite feel clean. With pauses that make you wonder if you're the unstable variable.
Here's the thing I've learned--both personally and through years of observing people, groups, and power dynamics.
When your sense of self is grounded, it often makes other people uncomfortable. Especially people who rely on consensus, hierarchy, or control to feel safe.
So they probe.
They test.
They ask you to explain yourself--not because they're curious, but because they're unsettled.
I've watched this pattern repeat across communities, workplaces, and social spaces.
When someone doesn't fit neatly into a role people recognize, the group often tries to resolve that discomfort by questioning the person instead of questioning the system.
You'll notice the questions aren't actually about understanding you better. They're about restoring a sense of order. (1/3)
And that's an important distinction--because once you see it, you can stop mistaking social anxiety for personal failure.
There's a simple model I return to when I'm deciding whether to stay engaged with someone or step back.
Safe. Sane. Consensual.
Safe means the interaction doesn't leave you feeling destabilized, surveilled, or on edge.
Sane means there's a shared baseline reality--basic trust that each person can reliably read the other as grounded.
Consensual means access is mutual, not extracted.
Here's the part that matters most:
If someone cannot reliably tell whether you're stable or unstable, that's not a puzzle you're required to solve for them. That's information.
It's your permission to disengage.
You don't owe access to people who experience you as confusing or unsettling simply because you won't perform yourself into a box they understand.
If you're not careful, you start answering questions you don't actually owe answers to.
You start performing coherence for people who haven't earned proximity.
You start confusing visibility with accountability.
One of the most stabilizing practices I know is this:
Don't outsource your self-knowledge to people who haven't earned access to it.
If someone has known you briefly, contextually, or only through a narrow lens, their confusion is not a diagnosis. It's just confusion. (2/3)
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