Self-Awareness

"Do I contradict myself? 

Very well then I contradict myself, 

(I am large, I contain multitudes.)"

                                                                                   - Walt Whitman

I've always considered myself to be fairly self-aware, but thinking back, there were certainly times I wasn't, or rather, plenty of things I was not self-aware about (i.e. apparently I speak so softly that I am often times completely inaudible? What?). I'm finding that learning about self-awareness itself, as a concept, helps my own self-awareness (And I'm not just saying that because you, my communications professor and audience of one, are reading this).

For example, I listen to the definition of self-image and let out an "oh", attaching the term to moments living on in my memories. To be reminded that it's more or less normal that my view of myself tends to change from situation to situation, brings about a certain clarity, a peace to the part of me that endlessly wonders "Why was I able to hold a conversation with this one person but not able to even make eye-contact with another?" Before I would attribute "failed communication" to some lacking on my part, a kind of duplicity within me, an inability to let myself be myself. I recognize now that, yes, I do act differently in different situations with different people, but so does everyone else. I'm met with relief to know that we are all multifaceted, that we all have multiple selves.

Accordingly, my self-esteem (on a path of mountains and valleys, and the occasional landslide) follows behind my self-image. And, to think about it, it's surprising how much and how often my self-esteem fluctuates based on, well, communication. A simple, means-nothing, smile exchanged with a stranger tends to make me feel good about myself and in turn raises my self-esteem, whereas, say, a silent ride up the elevator where no acknowledgement of my existence is made ruins me. Now, that sounds over-dramatic, I'm aware; but that's the point, that I need to reframe, reframe, reframe and, frankly, reign in the social comparisons. I'm just as capable as anyone else at communicating (right?).     

More and more I'm starting to understand now that communication and identity are linked, and maybe inseparable; that identity is (as it's beautifully put in the spiral notebook passing itself off as a textbook worth $100+) "co-created, reinforced, and challenged". I feel like I should have already known this though.   

I'm not one to jump at the thought of getting up and talking in front of a sea of staring eyes, but there was a time in ninth grade English when I was more anxious about what it was that I was supposed to talk about than the talking itself: me. It was a dreaded "About Me" project and part of the presentation entailed reading an acrostic poem we were to create of our names and... I had nothing. So my friends tried to help: 

S is for super ("...")

A is for artistic ("Maybe...")

I is for intelligent ("That's a little pretentious, but if you say so")

Y is for young ("Okay, stop")

None of these adjectives felt right, none of these words reached the core of me, no seven words ever could! (Aren't you outraged?) Well, on the pretense that it shouldn't be so hard to scribble down seven words that need only kinda-sorta describe me and start with the same letter as one in my name, the teacher came over to help as well and asked, "Well, Saiyara, tell me, who are you?" And guess who choked up. 

Through tears I told her that I didn't know, I didn't know who I was. (This may have been the beginning of the existential crisis that flourished two years later but... also a big hint that I was over-thinking something about which no one else, can I say, gave a shit?). 

I ended up presenting an acrostic poem that was vague, and not descriptive at all, but maybe descriptive all the same because it was vague (that's what I was going for at least), and what I guess I'm trying to convey is that had I known then what I know now, I may have avoided a spiritual meltdown concerning my identity.

The Awakening