Alien

INFJ’s often feel like aliens. We are rare, misunderstood, and there are so many things in this world that we simply don’t relate to. We are idealists. We see the world for what it could, and should, be. The reality of it is quite disappointing. We see and feel things that most do not, only adding to our inner loneliness. The Se function is very weak for us, causing a disconnect between our minds and the physical world around us, including our bodies. I have been feeling especially “alien” lately, which inspired me to write what that feels like:

I am an alien trapped in a human body on a planet they call “Earth.” I do not feel connected to this extremely limited body. I don’t even know why I am here. I am so different from the rest of them in every possible way. I am alone, and I am frustrated. I just want to go home.
On my planet, we can communicate without words getting in the way; we literally feel each other’s joys and sorrows, and we understand without a single word. In this world, non-verbal forms of communication between beings doesn’t exist. You must string just the right words together in just the right way in a to explain how you feel, and even then, others do not understand. After all, my native language is not of this world; I have to translate my thoughts into their language, and sometimes I just can’t. Their words aren’t always enough.
On my planet, we have wings– to fly, to soar; there are no limitations or physical boundaries. Walls, canyons, mountains, are not obstacles. In this world, I have feet and legs. Moving forward requires putting one foot in front of the other. It is tedious, tiring, and takes too long. There are boundaries and obstacles that I can’t get past without wings. These feet are foreign to me, and I trip over them all of the time. I get teased a lot. I am expected to do physical activities, and to do them well. But this body is strange to me, and I can’t make it do those things. They explain how, but I still can’t make my body cooperate. So they give up, believing me to be stupid. I get so frustrated, because I am not stupid, and I am capable of so much more. I want so badly to fly, but I am trapped in a body that will not let me. If they could only see me fly, they wouldn’t laugh anymore–They could see me for who I really am.
In my world, there is freedom instead of judgement. We see souls instead of bodies. Small talk doesn’t exist, no one pretends, no one has to hide who they are to be accepted. The masks humans use are not necessary in my world. Our physical appearance is of no importance. There is genuine concern for others, helping hands at every turn, immense compassion, and love is what really matters. In this world, it is every man for himself. Masks must be worn every day, because you are judged for everything here, even what you look like. Importance is placed on the superficial, not on love. There is very little empathy or compassion. If you let your mask slip and show how you feel, it is not acceptable. Any human that expresses emotion is criticized for being weak, dramatic, and over sensitive. I learned the this painful lesson the hard way.
Most humans don’t even bother talking to each other; they are like zombies with smart phones. They don’t even see the people next to them until it is too late. They completely miss out on deep connections with one another, and they are lonely. They spend astounding amounts of money and time on their appearances, trying to live up to the ridiculous standards set forth for them. They don’t realize what my planet has always known: your body is merely a shell–It’s what’s inside the shell that matters. They are all in pain, but suffer alone in silence until they die. There is a void inside all of them, a void they struggle to fill with all the wrong things. Even with their beauty and their money, they are broken and empty. They miss out on each other because they are too busy ignoring, judging or hurting each other. They lie, cheat, kill and steal. There is destruction everywhere, and they bring it on themselves. It is excruciatingly hard to watch.
I can feel their pain as if it were my own. My heart breaks for them, and sometimes it’s too much to bear. I cry for them when they aren’t looking, and I cry because I want to go home where I am accepted. I don’t know why I am here; I am nothing like them, and I do not possess the talents or skills that they value. I feel worthless in this world, where everything I am is not accepted or even seen. I may look like them in this human body, but I don’t think or see like they do. I want to give up, to just go home and never look back. This world and the people in it drain me until there is nothing left.
However, I have grown to love humans deeply. They will forever see me as stupid and weird, because my body won’t allow me to talk and move as effortlessly as they do. They think it strange that I feel so much, and that I actually care how they feel. They may never see me as I truly am, yet I can see them so much clearer than they see themselves. It is new to them, to have someone care about them and their stories…to feel accepted without their masks, instead of judged and hurt. I can make them feel love instead of misery, because I, too, know what it is to be judged, criticized, and unaccepted. Maybe that’s why I am here: to teach them how to fly.

einstein understand

Battle Scars

Silhouette by the water

Silhouette by the water

Can barely tell I was pregnant from the back.  That belly stuck straight out!

Can barely tell I was pregnant from the back. That belly stuck straight out!

My prego belly a month before my son was born.

My prego belly a month before my son was born.

——Bear with me on this one, I am going somewhere with this, I promise!——

My stomach will never look the same again.  I have lost all the baby weight, but I still don’t look like I used to.  The skin on my belly is looser, and covered in faded stretch marks.  Right after I had my son, the stretch marks were red and angry, like a tiger clawed me on either side of my belly button.  To make matters worse, my breasts are now shrinking since I’ve weaned my son.  It is devastating.  I’m in my 20’s, I should have a flawless, flat tummy and perfect boobs.  20-somethings on TV, movies and magazines are perfect.  Celebrity moms look like their old selves just weeks after giving birth, like nothing ever happened.  But not me.

I was at the store yesterday and the old lady bagging my groceries thought I was pregnant with my second child.  I matter of factly told her no, followed by an awkward silence.  She didn’t apologize, she changed the subject.  I gracefully answered her questions about how old my son is and got the heck out of there.  I noticed she had a terrible haircut, but I didn’t say anything to her about that.  Unlike most people, I don’t go around pointing out people’s flaws.  I actually think before I speak.  That is a foreign concept to people these days.  So thank you for the confidence boost, bagger lady.  I was literally looking in the mirror, sobbing at the sight of my reflection just 2 days before.  Your timing couldn’t have been better.  You are lucky I am nice to people who don’t deserve it.

I bought my first “mom bathing suit” last week, and have been depressed ever since.  I have to keep my stomach covered now.  I am ashamed for anyone to see it.  The girl who used to wear bikinis to the beach is gone, and I miss her.  I miss her flat stomach, and it’s lack of stretch marks, and I miss her perky boobs.  I am damaged goods now.  I suddenly worry that my husband will cheat on me for someone perfect, and I never worried about it before.  I avoid the mirror like a plague.

But you know what?  I am done with society and their ridiculous standards.  I went through 24 hours of labor, and a very complicated, uncomfortable pregnancy.  I earned this body!  I literally almost died to get these stretch marks.  And society thinks they are gross.  I grew another human being for 9 months.  But society thinks the loose skin on my stomach is nasty.  I nourished my baby with my own body; my milk alone kept him alive for the first 6 months of his life.  But society thinks my boobs aren’t perky enough.  I have a beautiful little boy who calls me mommy, but society thinks I’m lame because I can’t go out and party every weekend now.  (Not that I want to, anyway!)

When will it end?  Why do we let society define what’s beautiful or normal?  Can we not think for ourselves?  It is amazing how brainwashed by the media we are.  We let them define our own self worth.  I am mourning the loss of my body that society deemed worthy.  I am depressed because I don’t fit into their idea of beautiful anymore.  How twisted is that?  Why do I care, why do I let them decide whether or not I am ugly?  Maybe my bra isn’t quite as full as it used to be, but my heart is overflowing.  I have a precious little boy who calls me mama, gives me hugs and blows me kisses.  He lights up when I walk into the room.  The sound of his sweet little laugh makes my day.  There is nothing ugly or lame about that.  I could have the “perfect body” and still be empty and unhappy underneath it.  I may not be “hot” anymore, but I have a life filled with so much love and joy.  Honestly, I would choose this life over a perfect body any day.

My stretch marks are my battle scars-I survived growing another person and bringing him into the world.  My body is strong, and it gave my son life.  And that’s amazing.  I can’t believe my body went through all of that, went through unspeakable pain, and survived. Until I experienced it all for myself, I had no idea how amazing that is.  My body is life-giving, strong and powerful. And society can’t take that away from me.  So screw you, society!  Beauty comes in many forms, whether it be curvy, skinny, short, tall, pregnant, post-partum, tan, pale, black, white, and the list goes on.  The human body is incredible, no matter what it looks like on the outside.  Before you judge someone based on their looks, remember that you don’t know what they’ve been through.  Remember that there is a person in there with feelings just like you.  Remember that looks alone do not define who someone is, just as your looks don’t define you. And for the love of God, don’t ask someone about their “pregnancy” unless you’re 110% sure that they are actually pregnant.

I am still on my journey to self-acceptance.  I want to see the perfect actresses on TV and NOT compare myself to them.  I want to love the woman in the mirror instead of hating her.  I want to give society the finger instead of buying into it’s shallow B.S.  It’s a work in progress, but I’m hoping I can get there!  Some days are better than others.