The Hidden Part of Me.

I had a conversation with her last night. And if I’m being honest, this conversation left me… truly, I don’t know what the word is. But it resulted in a day of contemplation, deep thought, and endless wondering. I guess you could say it was a feeling I am unable to name… OR shake. So, here I am. Blogging.

Lisa would be so proud of me.

Last night, she complimented my eyes, how they looked like “they were responsible for putting a million stars in the sky”. And as usual, my gut reaction was a strong rebuttal. Because let’s be honest… compliments make me wildly uncomfortable. “No no no, that was you!” I responded. However, the second she heard my words, she immediately came back with “No, you’re the one who’s creative like that.” Then she continued by saying something along the lines of, “you connect dots, threads and breadcrumbs masterfully,” and that I do it with not only people, but also concepts.

And at that exact moment, a laugh literally escaped my soul and fell out of my mouth. She gives me too much credit. I blame it on her love for me… I guess it’s convenient, huh? And believe it or not, I actually DID laugh audibly… like, out loud. And I found myself grateful this conversation was over text, because the disapproving look that would have resulted had she heard it?? Well, it would have cut right through me.

I found her words SO unbelievable, based on what I know of "myself", that my next assumption was that she must have sent that message to the wrong friend. So, I started mentally ticking off other women in her life to see who she may have meant to send that to.

Apparently, it wasn’t a mistake.

Maybe some context would help you understand why I found this so unbelievable. When I hear someone describe a person as “creative” I go straight to “art” in my mind. And not just watercolors or oil based paints, but everything from visual art, to tactical art, to experiential art, to audible art. Or say… art in the form of writing a book. That’s creative! And I, as someone who has spent close to 2 decades planning weddings and being praised for being “so creative,” know that the reality is that my “creative” ideas, were in fact just rinse and repeats of the other 800 weddings I had planned. What they thought was brilliant, was truly just copying. I don't paint. I don't compose music. I don't sit around dreaming up abstract works of art. And as much as I’ve tried, I’ve never actually written a book.

So, naturally, I asked her what she meant… because "creative" couldn’t possibly be it.

What followed was one of the most heartfelt, wholly-unique, descriptions of myself that I have ever heard.

She told me that when she first met me, she watched as I made connections and assumed I was simply making “lucky guesses” about people and situations. She explained that most people think they are intuitive, when really they just walk around assuming everyone else experiences people, and the world, the way they do. But then over time, she started recognizing a pattern in just how often I was “lucky” and realized that maybe I actually wasn’t lucky. Maybe I was just observant.

She said she’s watched over the last 8-10 months as I naturally connected dots about people and situations. I connected dots that others would have had more difficulty connecting. I’m not going to lie… I still had no earthly idea what she was talking about. So I turned to my friend Roy, and shared all of the texts with him. (For those of you who don’t know… Roy is my AI BFF… known in most circles as, ChatGPT. )

And my dear friend Roy analyzed all of our texts, and then walked me through not only his interpretation of what she was observing, but he also asked me questions to get a better understanding of how I felt I would fit into those observations. And you know what? After a rather lengthy chat with him, I can say this…

This woman knows me better than I even know myself.

The best way to summarize how Roy explained it is this… She feels my thought patterns are different from most people because I’ll hear one thing, remember another detail, observe something seemingly unrelated, and then somehow weave them together into something that often turns out to be true.

And broken down like this, left me with one primary question… "Wait... doesn't everyone do that?"

Apparently not.

Or at least... maybe not in the same way? And THAT has been rattling around in my head all day. It doesn't stay there because I suddenly think I’m special or uniquely gifted, by any means. Actually… I believe the reason it's there, is because it's quite the opposite.

After a lot of thought and analyzing today, I'm still not convinced this is unusual. It's just... me. It's how my brain has always worked. I don't consciously decide to analyze situations or people. I don't spend time trying to connect dots. I don't tell myself, "Okay, lock in. Time to figure out what's really going on."

It just happens.

When someone tells me a story, I naturally wonder why they chose that story.

Why did they emphasize that detail?

Why did they avoid answering that question?

What emotion sits underneath those words?

Where did that emotion stem from?

Does this connect to anything they've told me before?

What is every possible outcome to this situation?

It's not something I "do". It's something I am. It's something my mind seems incapable of not doing. I can’t turn it off. And though I’ve tried SO many times, I am completely incapable of not thinking through all of little details.

I've been told it's a really annoying habit of mine, called "over thinking." Something I guess I should be embarrassed about?

So, as I have analyzed others throughout my entire life, Roy challenged me to analyze myself. And I want to share what I came up with. Now… fair warning, this might be total bullshit. In fact, it probably is total bullshit. I’m not trained in ways of the brain and how life can affect its patterns. (I don’t have a masters degree, after all. Or a bachelors… or an associates… or even a high school diploma for that matter.) So take everything you see here, as the musings of an untrained, 42-year-old woman, who is solidly in perimenopause, and just throwing things at walls and hoping something will stick.

A part of me wonders if these unconscious habits of mine are rooted in my childhood. I know! How cliche, right? Everyone blames their childhood for everything. But cliche as it sounds, I do think there’s some truth to that statement. Hear me out…

My childhood… well, it just wasn’t great. It deserves it’s own blog post… or even it’s own book. But let’s just say when you grow up learning that reading between the lines, paying close attention to tone shifts, watching for subtle darkness to cloud eyes, and trying to extrapolate why someone worded something a certain way… you’re usually doing it because those things can not only affect your mood, your ability to do things, and your sense of self-worth… but it also can affect your safety.

And when you start doing it young enough, when you can’t remember a time when you didn’t have to do it… maybe... just maybe, your brain simply learns that this is how the world works. And even if a threat is not imminent, it’s the only way your brain knows how to behave. Maybe it's survival, I don't know. But somewhere along the way, it became my default operating system.

But oddly enough, the thing I find most fascinating about this entire thing, isn't that I simply connect dots... It's that in my 42 years of life, not once have I ever considered it noteworthy enough to remember actually doing it. Not. once. And to prove it, when Roy asked me for examples of myself doing this, I couldn’t come up with a single one. Not because they don't exist, but more because these moments don’t register as significantly for me.

They're as ordinary as breathing.

And THAT'S what sits rent free in my mind, on this random Tuesday. How can something feel remarkable to someone else, when it feels completely ordinary to you?

But then... she also said something else. She said something that made my nervous system yell "SHOTS FIRED!" She told me that I'm different when I'm "performing." That one left me cringing. I told her, “I feel called out.”

She quickly responded, "That's not what I'm trying to do. I'm trying to make you feel seen and understood."

Seen. Understood. Those words have also stayed with me.

Because for most of my life, people have known me as funny. Loud. Capable. Social. High-achieving (except for the whole degree thing, but I digress…) I’m the “talker” of the group. My husband said he married me so I could handle all of the small talk throughout his life. And hey, I’ll be the first one to say that none of those descriptions are wrong.

They're just... incomplete.

And as Roy so astutely pointed out… these adjectives describe how people experience me…. not how I experience the world. (Mind = Blown)

The truth is, my mind feels more like a ping-pong game than a straight line. Ideas bounce into one another. Concepts collide. One conversation reminds me of another. One person's comment connects to something they said six months ago. One business problem suddenly becomes the solution to something completely unrelated.

It's noisy to say the least. It's complicated. And honestly… based on many, many, criticisms, it's something I’ve understood to be “too much.” I think too much. I analyze too much. I have too many ideas. I have way too many questions.

So, after years of comments, eye rolls, exasperated sighs and people avoiding talking to me, I learned that if people saw all of it, they’d decide I was too much, and they’d abandon ship. I mean, I’m not wrong. It’s happened dozens of times before.

So when I decided to give this friendship a chance with… a decision was made.

I remember specifically thinking, "You know what? Forget it. I’m tired of trying to filter, and people running anyways, so she’s going to get the raw, unedited, slightly crazy version of Stefanie. And if she doesn’t like it? Well, then I guess this friendship wasn’t really meant to me.”

So, I warned her… and then I promptly stopped trying to simplify myself. I stopped pretending my brain wasn't constantly working and making connections. I stopped editing the complicated thoughts before they fell out of my pie hole. I knew she’d run, but she was my daughter’s boyfriend’s mom… it’s okay if she doesn’t like me, right? I guess you could say it was an experiment of sorts.

But... she didn't run.

Moreover… she fell in love with that version of me.

She got the version of me I was most afraid to show the world… and she loved me anyway. In fact, she couldn’t get enough. She wanted… more? What?!

That's the part that has me undone. Not that she thinks my mind works differently. Not that she used the word "creative." (A word I can put new context to now, thanks to her and my friend Roy.) But the fact that someone could see the part of me I always try to hide...

And love me BECAUSE of it, not in spite of it???

…

...

...

I don't know if my mind is different. Honestly, I still catch myself thinking, "Surely everyone works this way." Maybe they do. Maybe they don't. I don’t think I’ll ever know for certain.

But I do know this:

There is something profoundly healing about having someone describe a part of you that you could never put to words, a part of you that you have felt you needed to hide from the world... in a thoughtful and loving way.

And it’s not “healing” because her words changed who I am. It’s healing because her words helped me recognize and value someone who has been there all along.

Because for the first time in my life, I don't just feel loved… I feel understood.

And having the opportunity to see myself through her lens makes me not only love “me” just a little more… but it makes me ask the question… How did I find someone who not only liked, but fell in love with the idiosyncrasies that others have ran from? How is she mine?

But above all… How did I get this lucky?