Caring for our inner lived experiences
We may often hear the word self-care, a term I first started hearing during the pandemic. When I queried this term on a search engine, here’s part of the definition that was displayed:
Self-care is the process of taking deliberate actions to maintain and improve physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual well-being. It is not merely about indulgence or luxury, but rather a necessary practice of honoring basic needs and taking responsibility for one's own health to prevent burnout and manage stress.
I no longer distinguish between mental, emotional, and spiritual well-being. For me, they are one and the same — interconnected, interdependent. In theory, I see their separation and distinction as helpful for gaining a deeper understanding through analysis. But in practice, I treat them as one contiguous part of who and what I am, where identity and experience co-create reality.
And, despite my openness here in my writings, I’m very cautious about what I share about my unusual experiences and with whom I share them. There’s no simple or universal way to calibrate this kind of sharing. I like to think of them as layers of trust and confidence, with each layer getting closer to the center, which contains the whole absolute truth.
First, there’s the outer layer, which is for the world at large, where no information is shared at all: strangers, co-workers, neighbors, acquaintances, etc.
Layer two is where hints and small details of something akin to the uncanny are shared, but at a distance and in very vague, general terms. This layer, along with each subsequent layer, involves sharing on a need-to-know basis.
Layer three goes deeper, where parts of specific events and their details are judiciously shared with those whom I hold in close confidence and who I know won’t use the knowledge against me or share it with others.
The final inner layer is the most secure and the one I share with no one because it is the full and complete truth, with every fact and facet of events, memories, theories, and speculations. This is the layer I think most people are quick to violate in their need or enthusiasm to share their experiences.
Know that I’m not against the sharing of these experiences, just that caution and care need to be exercised in doing so. Forethought is critical, as it allows time to process experiences internally and ask thoughtful, careful questions: How well do I understand what has happened to me? How much of it is safe to share with others? How might others, even those closest to me, interpret what I might share? How might my sharing of this information change how people see me and relate to me? Will the person I’m sharing my experiences with truly help me, or will they use that knowledge for their own gain in ways that could harm me and my reputation?
I think it’s important for people who have experienced the uncanny, especially if it is over a period of time or a lifetime, to not underestimate society’s shallowness and pretentiousness. People can pretend to show interest or care, but the pretense isn’t proof of their presence. And in an age where everything has become a financial transaction where every aspect of our lives has been reduced by commodification, I don’t think we can carelessly share what we have seen and experienced in liminality. To quote Goethe:
Tell a wise person, or else keep silent, because the mass man will mock it right away. I praise what is truly alive, what longs to be burned to death.
I see no difference between self-care and the caring of my experiences. I’m the sole custodian of what I’ve learned and experienced, and if I do not care and advocate for them responsibly, then no one will. This is especially true in the toxic cesspool of modern civilization, though I cannot really be sure that it was ever any different at any other time in human history. Perhaps it’s more intense and all-encompassing now than in the past.
So I tend to err on the side of caution when it comes to sharing my inner life, especially the anomalous. Preventative self-care means taking time to check in with myself, knowing what is normal and stable, and knowing what is unusual or unsafe and would require outside help. I certainly could not have integrated my profound and powerful inner experiences from earlier this year on my own. And when I sought help, I was very careful who I reached out to.
Not all therapists and clinicians are the same.
I took time to research profiles and writings of healthcare professionals. I did not assume they were all alike and would honor my testimony or my person the same way. When I found and settled on someone, I remained cautious about what I shared and when. Clinicians and therapists are human, too. Their ability to fully listen to understand my experiences is governed by a range of mechanisms, including their own experiences. I learned that the match would be imperfect, but that imperfection didn’t stand in the way of successful integration. The goal wasn’t to find a friend. The goal was to understand myself, others, and my world from inside a new reality into which I had unwillingly fallen.
For those experiencing or who have experienced the uncanny, above all, please take care. Exercising self-care is also part of the experience.
By D. Bowman Nomina Numina is a journal of reflections, moments, and meaning-making of a life between worlds. Reply by email.