This year I set out to truly understand and come to terms with myself, which has naturally led to reflecting on the aspects of my childhood that have ultimately shaped me.
Growing up neurodivergent and anxious, I have often felt an imposterish sense that I’ve been handed a faulty manual. I’m haunted by an immense fear that one day, a stranger will turn to me, point, and tell me I’ve been doing life wrong – and everyone has noticed.
This was recently tested before our flight to Tenerife over a month ago, when I had my hand luggage searched at about 5:30am in Manchester Airport. It is moments such as these that you convince yourself that maybe you are carrying things you shouldn’t, maybe you did fill it with the most embarrassing, incriminating, items, maybe you are the worst person on earth…
But I had only packed a few hours beforehand (I all-nightered to leave at 4am). As a fan of lists and puzzles with photographic memory, I had a pretty decent idea of what was in my bag.
That makes it sound like I passed the check with flying colours (what is it with me treating life as some big exam!). This was roughly how it went. My bag is black and white, polka-dotted.
Security 1: Is this your bag?
Me: Yes, it is.
Security 1: Did you pack this bag yourself?
Me: Yes, I did. (I know I definitely did, but what if I actually didn’t)
Security 1: Is everything in this bag yours?
Me: Yes, it is. (Am I sure???)
Security 1: Is there any chance somebody could have taken and/or added something to your bag?
Me: No. (I’ve been clinging to this bag since 3:45am, but what if…)
My deer-in-headlights expression (more lately rabbit-in-headlights from my driving instructor) is on by now.
Security 1: Can you list what you have packed in this bag for me?
Me: (Instructions. I’m good at those. I literally just packed this bag) I have my hairbrush, Nintendo Switch, sunglasses, cap (ARE THESE THINGS YOU NORMALLY TAKE ON HOLIDAY???), toothbrush, books… headphones…
Security 1: Okay. If I were to ask you about two or three rectangular things towards the right-hand-side of your bag, could you think what they are?
Me: Either books, or… (oh, wait). I packed some card games.
Security 1: Can you remember what card games?
Me: (Very aware of people behind me at this point) Cat Top Trumps and The Chase (ITV) card game.
Security 2 then proceeds to remove everything in my bag and search them (the books page by page… my poor secondhand Wimsey). This is when I’d forgotten to mention my childhood teddy, Lucy the lamb, is also in there. She got swabbed for drugs. I kind of wanted to spontaneously combust at that point. Security 2 did apologise for that.
Following an all-clear and a fairly deflated departure from Security, my dad suggested they maybe wanted to check my bag because they were astounded at how a 24-year-old could have a bag filled by a child and grandmother simultaneously.
I was worried that maybe they thought my Tetris style of packing was too neat, and therefore a red flag. I have since reassured myself that no, it wasn’t my Crocs, or my bad eye contact, but simply a random check.
There is nothing like a good bit of self-scrutiny following having your belongings searched and representation of your personality quite literally laid out in a tray, piece by piece. This debacle occurred at about the same time an online trend of (predominantly AI-generated) Me Starter Packs was circling: see my (drawn!!!!! by hand!!!!!) contribution above. Some of the objects pictured featured in my hand luggage.
Aside from its relevance to the mortifying ordeal of being known, I brought up the airport scene for purposes of reflecting on material identity. Not exactly to say that I’m best described by card games and a toy lamb, but more in the way the things we own, inherit, keep, treasure, capture aspects of our lives/passions/younger selves.
I am a person with interests (special interests) of multiple shapes and sizes, yet also one who when asked about hobbies will draw a complete blank, despite hyperfixated years attentively studying actor Personal Life sections or rewatching the same series on loop.
So, I think if I’m ever asked again, I might tell them about the bag search – both to jog my memory, and hopefully spark at least one common interest.
I may poke fun at myself, but a lot of becoming who I am now has involved re-embracing the things I enjoyed as a little girl and might have packed away when teenagerhood convinced me that everything was embarrassing.
Of course I wake up finally
thinking, how wonderful to be who I am,
made out of earth and water,
my own thoughts, my own fingerprints —
all that glorious, temporary stuff.
(From Mary Oliver, ‘On Meditating, Sort Of’)
I was labelled an old soul on a number of occasions growing up, which I took then as more a comment on my hobbies (arts, crafts, baking, watching daytime detective TV…). I have of course read more into it now I’m older and realised it ties more into emotional maturity and oftentimes introversion, which has led to other discoveries regarding the past ten years or so.
Whether it be due to exposing myself to the internet at much too young an age (11-12), being bullied at school (I recently found some online journals I had written detailing times I was – I seem to have either shut most out or forgot), or whatever anxiety chucked in the way when all I wanted was to pass my GCSEs and A Levels; I would probably say that I grew up quickly in some areas.
I can’t say confidence blossomed, or a social life, but more so that I have, for a long time now, felt hyper-aware and almost constantly on-guard.
Something I have tried (and am trying) to do as of late is actively seek to heal/re-seek my inner child. This, and challenging embarrassment. Having spent a portion of life pretending to be someone, something I’m not (neurotypical, heterosexual, modern pop-cultured), what’s the harm in finding some happiness in old hobbies?
I’ve started reading previously adored children’s books before bed. I returned to the Brownie unit I was at as a child and now volunteer there. I’ve started drawing and sewing again. I routed through the stacks of boxes in my childhood bedroom and put out some trinkets I treasured as a girl.
After a long period of cluttered minimalism (meaning this in the sense my space has been simultaneously undecorated, personality-less, yet a mess), I’ve found a lot of enjoyment in bringing the colour back. I believe in dopamine dressing – similarly in dopamine decorating!
Whether it be merely the return of sun and heat, or that I’m making some positive steps forward, I have found real comfort in taking life slowly, feeling less pressure, and allowing myself to just be.
Try it!
AS YET TO BE 