Growing up, I learned that I needed to be superhuman. I needed to be omniscient, needed to be ahead of my dad, predicting what was going to happen so I could be ahead of him.

I also learned that he needed his computers to work all the time. Though he built them and upgraded the hardware, he often had software troubles, especially because he was using them for nefarious purposes. So I needed to know all the ins and outs of the computer. I needed to be able to start from a computer that only worked at a hardware level, and I would build from there, all the way to a fully functioning computer.

Later in my life, I learned that other people actually didn’t want to take my time and energy to rebuild their computer from scratch. They wanted me to spend my time doing what I wanted to do instead. I didn’t realize this for a long time, even after I experienced it. So I continued the pattern of needing to be superhuman until one day when I noticed that my brain and body weren’t functioning properly.

At that point, I started to recognize that parts of me were underdeveloped. This underdevelopment scared me. In order to begin to resolve it, I needed to face the parts that scared me. And to face the fear that if I resolved these issues, I would lose those who kept me alive when I was younger.

So here I am, caught between a rock and a hard place. I needed to be superhuman, then found parts of me that were underdeveloped, neglected. Those neglected parts didn’t fit with the superhuman parts or the previous “superhuman” identity. And, because my dad taught me how to think, and he only had two options: “good” or bad”, then this fell into the “bad” category, and therefore I was subhuman.

As it turns out, there was a yet another part of me. The human part, which can hold both the superhuman and the neglected parts. I can lean on the human part when I’m noticing that my energy feels like it has gone too far in one direction, or when I’m feeling a strong pull up or down.

There are a number of aspects to this discovery of my human part, which I think others might call the “wise mind” or other spiritual-type names. One is that my dad either didn’t have awareness of this part of himself, or else he had limited abilities in this area, or possibly none at all. This is scary for me because I am outside of dad’s realm, and that feels dangerous.

On the other hand, this discovery is allowing me to be more “myself.” I am able to listen to what pulls me forward, what I think needs to be brought into the world. And I’m able to listen to when I feel the need to rest or withdraw. It’s really interesting because, while this process of listening hasn’t instantaneously cured all my ailments, it has allowed me to be with the parts of me that scare me.

Things such as the physical aches that are part of living, but that I instantly fear are harbingers of severe illness and impending death. And paying attention to the fact that I learned to catastrophize. I learned to amplify those things because it kept me safe when I was younger. That way I could make sure that I was safe from dad’s outbursts.

The pattern of vigilance remains in me, and may never leave. I’m not sure. But I don’t need to have certainty in that outcome. I know that I’m paying attention to those challenges in myself, and that feels good to be able to know myself better than I did before. It’s a peaceful feeling.

I hope that this writing has helped you identify or connect with these parts of yourself, or maybe has just helped you think about these things. If you’re in a similar place to where I was, I hope that you can move towards peace in yourself. I know that some days it can feel like an impossible outcome. And sometimes, just acknowledging the feeling of impossibility can lighten the weight.