Lately, I’ve noticed something stirring when I’m around people again.
After a long stretch of being alone, of doing so much of my processing internally, I felt alive in a group space in a way I haven’t for a long time. Engaged. Curious. Energised. Almost hungry for connection.
It wasn’t neat. It wasn’t perfectly paced. But it was real.
What I’m Noticing
I noticed how quickly I can engage — how fast my mind picks things up, reflects them back, questions them, pulls them apart.
That ability is both a gift and a responsibility.
In a group session, I found myself enjoying the debate, the tension, the exchange of ideas. I spoke more than I usually do. I asked questions that landed closer to the bone. I felt grounded, calm, and regulated — and yet also highly activated.
I noticed irritation when people framed therapy as something they were “forced” to do, or something only useful in crisis. I felt frustration when curiosity wasn’t shared, when reflection felt performative, when depth seemed resisted.
I also noticed moments where my engagement tipped into over-engagement — where I stayed in conversations past the point of mutual flow, trying to keep something alive that wasn’t meeting me back.
And underneath it all, I noticed something very human: a craving for connection after a long time alone.
Why I Think It Matters
This moment mattered because it showed me an edge I’m learning to walk.
For a long time, I held myself back. I knew I had the capacity to intellectually dismantle arguments, to dominate debates, to win. That capacity once protected me. In my family of origin, clarity and sharpness felt like safety.
But safety through dominance always came at a cost.
Now, that power is still there — but I don’t need it to survive anymore. The work is learning how to hold it lightly. How to speak from experience rather than correction. How to stay authentic without overpowering the room.
What stood out most wasn’t that I “did something wrong,” but that I created a lot of material to reflect on — and had the capacity to sit with it afterward without collapsing into shame or defensiveness.
It also reminded me that people are at very different places in their journeys. Some are conserving energy. Some are protecting themselves. Some aren’t ready — or willing — to look very deeply right now.
And that’s okay.
I feel ready for a next chapter. Others may not be. That doesn’t make anyone better or worse — just differently timed.
The Open Question
How do I honour my aliveness without needing to use my full force?
How do I stay engaged, curious, and real — while also pacing myself, listening for consent, and knowing when to step back?
I’m still figuring this out…