I’m Half a Human

Dearest readers,

Happy Saturday! I hope you all are having a blessed weekend.

Last night I had the privilege of attending a Teddy Swims concert at the Greek Theater in Berkeley, California. The ticket, a hefty $250, was a last-minute purchase, but man, was it worth it. That man can sing. So much soul and emotion behind his voice and lyrics. It’s interesting– he doesn’t strike me as a man who looks like a pop star, like a Backstreet Boy or Justin Timberlake. But his talent speaks for itself. He went viral on YouTube in 2019 by posting covers of famous songs, and with a little bit of luck, he transformed from Jaten Collin Dimsdale, a singer-songwriter from Georgia, to Teddy Swims, the Grammy award nominee. Interesting fact– at his concerts, he performs without shoes. Just calve-high socks… does it help him feel more comfortable on stage? He strikes me as real, authentic, relatable. Goofball energy with a hearty belly laugh, but also a deep soul who has suffered and channeled his heartbreak and angst into powerful, transcendent music.

I came to a self-realization last night after the concert. I attended the concert by myself since none of my friends could make it out to Berkeley, and while there’s nothing wrong with attending events solo (I do that often), I felt a little bit lonely standing in the sea of people who were all coupled or grouped up with friends and lovers. Teddy’s music speaks to the power of human connection, with messages relating to love and heartbreak and parenthood, and I think my experience could have been more special if I shared it with a cherished one.

Standing in front of me was a lovey-dovey couple, likely in their 40s, who didn’t hold back with their PDA (I am not one to judge, since I do the same thing). The dude was standing behind her, holding her waist tenderly, with her weight pressed against his body. The gesture evoked surrender and trust. He was her rock, her safe space. During one of the heartbreak songs, she turned to face him, took off her black-rimmed glasses, and started crying. She gazed longingly into his eyes, searching for a connection, and I could tell that he wasn’t looking back at her, focusing instead on Teddy’s performance. I wondered what was going on in that moment. A reach for connection and comfort that fell flat. There was something discordant about the whole thing, and I found myself getting judgmental. Towards her, not him.

Some cruel thoughts:

Girl, why you gotta be so emotional? Who hurt you? Was it him? 

You seem kinda needy right now. Toughen up, stand tall, don’t cry. 

What the hell is wrong with me? I can empathize deeply with suffering from mental illness and trauma and abuse… but love and heartbreak? It’s a foreign concept to me. Maybe I have never experienced true heartbreak, because I have never loved a person so much that they could kill my soul. At 27, I have not yet had that lived experience. I can’t empathize with falling weak in love, because I have long prided myself in my fierce independence. That is not to say I am not sensitive at heart, but sometimes, I can be cold as ice. A shark who can’t stop swimming long enough to appreciate the precious moments. I am a performance machine who will strive for greatness or die trying, what with my training as a competitive athlete and now an entrepreneur. Why did I judge that woman in her moment of vulnerability? Maybe I was jealous. Maybe I wanted what she had… someone to lean on, someone to protect her, someone she could call her “Other”.

As I walked out of the theater post-concert, I overheard a girl saying, “There was not a dry eye in the stadium.” I thought to myself, “Well, my eyes were dry as a desert.” Why was that the case?

I am strong in many ways, but that strength has come at a cost– a part of my humanity. As a hypersensitive person, I have had to put up brick walls to protect my glass heart. This coping mechanism could be a byproduct of emotional and psychological abuse and trauma from gymnastics and mental illness. I have weathered a lot in my 27 years and had to learn to rely largely on myself to be my own source of self-regulation and emotional support. I have friends and family and a team of clinicians who have been incredibly supportive in my darkest hours, and in no way could I have healed from bipolar without their support. But romantic love? It has long evaded me, and I feel like an underdeveloped human in many ways. Half a human who is a goal-achieving machine, but doesn’t know how to love a man.

Goals are what I chase, but love is what I yearn for. I have a feeling that true love and motherhood will humble me. For now, I’d rather be single and at peace than pining over the wrong partner. What are your guys’ thoughts on love, vulnerability, and attachment?

An afterthought: I may not have cried during the concert, but I certainly was moved. The concert made me think and contemplate about my own emotional landscape and psyche. It made me reflect on my life, the decisions I’ve made, the coping skills and defense mechanisms I’ve forged to keep my heart safe, but that render me ill-adjusted in adulthood. The more I learn about myself, the more I realize I have to grow. I have a lot to talk about in therapy next week, thanks to Teddy. Kinda ironic how the name of his tour is, “I’ve Tried Everything But Therapy.” Nah, I am a champion of therapy and its healing power, I’ve been seeing the same therapist since I was 16 years old. She holds a mirror up to my psyche and makes me see the good, bad, and ugly, and helps me grow into a better, more joyous version of myself. Thus is the power of art, music, performance– it changes you in some way. I left the concert a changed person.