Can You See Me Now?
It was September 2011, and I was sitting in the backseat of my cousin’s car in China. His daughter had just graduated with her Master’s, and I decided to go back with her for a visit. It was good timing, because had I gone any other time, my cousin would not have been there, and I’d have to resort to walking a lot. Not that I mind walking; it was the heat that was oppressing.
I also got to stay with them in their new place they’d just purchase up along the mountains. It was fancy, and having a western toilet and AC was even fancier. I was grateful for those comforts, but also very aware that, no matter how much they welcomed me, I was in somebody else’s space.
That feeling was not new to me.
My parents divorced when I was around 8, and my dad not being able to take care of us while still working a full-time job, my brother and I moved in with my aunt and uncle, along with a host of cousins. In total, there were 12 of us under one roof, sharing 4 bedrooms and 3 bathrooms.
It was an interesting time; I was all at once excited that I would now get to hang out with my cousins without having “to go home”, all the while not really knowing, understanding, how the divorce was going to impact me. This was uncharted territory for everyone. Back then, you never heard of Asians getting divorced; it was a rarity.
How my family came together to navigate that period would always be the type of family dynamic I strive for. Money was tight, space even tighter, but the support was strong. The adults managed the best they can, and no one said anything cruel to me. In light of all that, though, I was always latently aware that I was inhabiting space that wasn’t mine.
I lived there, but I didn’t feel like I belonged there.
I was welcomed, but at times felt like an outsider.
In my young mind, though, I didn’t know how to act in accordance to how I felt. I still complained, sulked, laughed, played, ate, and learned along with everyone else. In retrospect, it was a good thing, because in the years to come, I would eventually figure out that the best thing to do when you’re in a space that’s not yours is to try to not take up any space at all.
In the backseat of the car, I don’t remember where we were headed. Probably to meet up with family if I had to guess. I just remember consciously staying very quiet, trying not talk too much in case my voice or opinions came across annoying. After all, I was imposing on their space, and it was best to be as inconspicuous as possible.
I didn’t speak until I was asked a question, and when I subsequently answered, my cousin in the front seat was surprised.
I tried so hard to be invisible that, in the midst of that short ride, she had forgotten I was there.
My plan of not taking up space, of being a blur in someone’s memory, worked, and that is how I would intentionally conduct myself for the next 5 years.
For all my optimism and faith in people, I learned that people would naturally take advantage if given the opportunity to. People are naturally self-serving, and no one is going to reclaim your space for you if you don’t protect it in the first place. This is where strong boundaries and learning to say no come in.
But that’s easier said than done. In years of giving up myself to not be an inconvenience, a nuisance, or *gasp* a full-fledged deserving human, I didn’t know where others’ intrusiveness ended and my boundaries started. It was murky; like… what’s the harm in just going one extra step for someone?
In the aftermath of my divorce, I answered my own question.
Turns out, that extra step opens the door for the next extra step, and the next, and the next. Before you know it, you’ve walked so far, so what’s one final step to your own detriment? Hey, at least the other person was served, right?
I am so thankful divorce showed me the way.
Living alone while processing my grief allowed me all the time and space for me to heal. And a large part of the healing involved me speaking up and asking for what I needed to get better.
I can tell you it was extremely uncomfortable at the beginning. I likely ruffled some feathers too. Here was this non-imposing person before, asking for something? Demanding, even. Why does she think she has the right?
It got easier with time. The hardest part was the carving out the initial space and boundaries. Then, it’s just about vigilant maintenance. Swapping out some people who were no longer good for me helped immensely, as I sought to replace them with healthier relationships who respected those boundaries.
Most of all, it was moving into my own place that rounded out my sense of space.
No longer do I have to feel like I have to defer to anyone on the basis of ownership. There was no more power struggle, no more imbalance. It made me happy to be able to set the tone and intention of that space and invite others to occupy it. I once felt homelessness as a mental state; I no longer know that feeling.
The space around me is always evolving, literally and figuratively. But now I know that wherever I go, so long as I enforce and respect my own boundaries, I will always have space for belonging. I deserve that, and deserve to take up room, because I am neither too much or not enough. I deserve peace and happiness and fulfillment. I deserve to feel whole and unapologetically myself, just like any other person.
Can you see me now?
