The need to feel special and unique constantly gnaws at the back of my mind. If someone else is praised resentment creeps in. If someone performs better than me at a task I feel frustration and disappointment. My worldview must be distinct from everyone else. My ideas must be original. I must be bringing something new and different always or what’s the point of me being there? I felt like an imposter in graduate school deriving mathematical proofs that someone else discovered. I feel like a second-rate thinker blogging about regurgitated ideas I’ve got from others. If there’s nothing unique here, if everything I’m writing is just a remix or restatement of other’s ideas, why bother?

This is not the result of some narcissistic delusion; it’s the natural consequence of dealing with neglect trauma and enduring shame and the emotional wounds of being unseen and starved of emotional intimacy. The mind takes these painful feelings and makes a desperate try at finding a solution to the hurt.

“If only I can bring something new then people will notice me.”

“If only I can be the best ever then I will be able to find belonging.”

And on and on with related thoughts and perfectionistic impulses. It’s sad in a lot of ways. The mind tries so hard, but crafting fantasies about being an ultra-stoic with no vulnerability and the ability to master any subject perfectly is like taking Vicoden to escape the pain; it’s not going to do anything about healing the reality of my experience. In the long run it only makes it worse since I start suffering the side effects of internal schisms caused by constantly beating back these fantasies, and I lose touch with the actual source of the pain. It’s only a human reaction my mind was only trying it’s best to keep me safe and away from more pain.

I have felt a lot of insecurity writing this blog. I feel like I’m not original enough with my ideas, that I am just restating a lot of things. There’s nothing here you couldn’t find elsewhere. As I’ve struggled with these worries, the image of a choir came to mind.

All the members are singing the same song, but together they’re able to access a range of different notes and form a harmony with their voice that creates a much richer sound than any one person singing alone might in that moment.

So when I’m writing here about trauma, emotional issues, or other topics, I’m adding my voice to the chorus. I think there’s a lot of beauty in that mental image.