The Part I Was Told to Hide
June 13, 2025
Something extraordinary happened in therapy today.
A part of me came forward — a part I’ve kept so hidden, it was almost underground. Not because I was ashamed of it. But because the world around me had no space for it. No understanding. No welcome.
It’s a part of me that’s joyful. Enthusiastic. Bright.
Fast-talking, curious, connected.
Alive.
And today, I let it be seen.
Fully.
And it was accepted.
It might sound small, but it wasn’t.
It was probably the most healing experience I’ve ever had.
Because this part of me — this vibrant, emotionally intelligent, expressive version of me — is the same one that others have labeled manic. Or questioned. Or quietly judged.
Not because it’s disordered — but because it unsettled people who couldn’t meet it.
Some couldn’t understand that joy doesn’t have to mean chaos.
That high energy doesn’t always mean instability.
That my aliveness isn’t dangerous.
Growing up, I was told my sensitivity was too much.
That I should go cry in my room, and come back when I was “sorted.”
That joy should be toned down.
That depth was inconvenient.
So I learned to split off the parts of myself that felt the most natural.
To keep them hidden unless it was absolutely safe.
But today — in that room — I didn’t hide.
I’ve shown glimpses of this part to a few people before. And sometimes, they’ve embraced it. Other times, they’ve shut it down — even pathologized it. As if my joy somehow made them uncomfortable. As if the brightness I carried shone too much light on their shadows.
But here’s what I’m realizing:
My joy is not a threat. My sensitivity is not a flaw. My emotional range is not a liability.
This is what integration feels like.
Not mania. Not instability. Just… me.
Whole. Awake. Expressive.
And yes, I may be quicker than most.
Yes, my thoughts might come fast.
Yes, I might connect ideas that others miss.
But that’s not something to apologise for.
That’s something to honour.
Because I’ve carried enough shame in my life.
I’ve lost enough time trying to shape myself into something more “acceptable.”
I don’t want to dim anymore — especially not when I’m finally enjoying life.
If you want to call it manic, that’s your lens.
But I know what this is: joy.
The kind of joy that emerges when all the fragments of you finally sit at the same table.
The kind of joy that doesn’t need to be explained — only embraced.
And if someone can’t meet me in this state, that’s okay.
They don’t have to.
I’ll meet myself here.
Fully. Proudly. Tenderly.
Because this part of me — the one I was told to hide —
might just be the best part of all.