Hiding

When I was a little girl, I loved to play hiding games. I loved that feeling of being in a small tight space that was hidden from another's view. From an early age, I remember the secure feeling of hiding under my bed. I would pretend that a predator was trying to find me and I would hide for no reason, but just because I enjoyed the feeling of imagined safety it would bring me. I loved the feeling of shrinking my world. I loved to look at the wall or the floor up close or to just contemplate the way I could fold my limbs around myself or stretch myself flat. Much of my childhood consisted of making forts high in trees or trekking into the woods by myself or with friends in order to build secret forts in hollowed out trees or under fallen debris.

On other occasions, my friends and I would play games of stealth, that involved moving about locations and hiding and moving on. We'd play elaborate games of blind man's bluff in my friend's house that included navigating stairs and dark basements while blindfolded. For me, hiding and being sought was a part of my psyche. I didn't like being the seeker much, but I loved to be the hidden. I felt very powerful while in this role. I always felt exhilarated or safe while hiding and staying hidden, especially if people walked by me many times without seeing me. I especially loved it when people would seemingly look right at me without seeing me. Small spaces felt good. Being secreted away was like a drug for me. I felt innately whole in a small space away from people where I didn't have to be anything to anyone. I could just be myself. I could just be little me, alone and without the pain of other people judging me.

As I grew into an adult, my penchant for physical hiding grew into a habit of emotional hiding. I have found that people don't like who I am. They don't like my sensitivity to things or my deep thinking and so I hide that part of myself away. At times I want people to come and find me, but yet, I continue to hide from them. It feels very safe to me. Lonely, yet safe.

When I was young, occasionally people did find me or my hiding spot. Some malicious and some well-meaning people would destroy my little hiding spots, leaving me feeling very vulnerable. Experience has always bared out that when I reveal my hiding spot, they are not honored or appreciated, but destroyed. I have continually learned the lesson that it doesn't pay to reveal my secret hiding spots. I like the feeling of safety much better than I dislike the loneliness that hiding brings. Loneliness is hard but its better than feeling vulnerable and being destroyed.