The sensitive child and her dog
It must have been the early 90s and I was around 7 or 8 years old. We still lived in Portugal, not far from Lisbon, the capital, and we lived in an apartment on the 6th floor. I remember it was a beautiful and spacious apartment with two bathrooms and a big kitchen with marble countertops. I wish I could say it was a happy home but from what I remember, it was imbued in tension most of the time. A tension that could cut through glass and to a sensitive child that had always been highly attuned to her environment, it was exhausting.
It’s when I learned to be the ‘good girl’. Where the building blocks of my people pleasing tendencies had been formed. It’s where I learned that it was better to know how to become invisible to people for their unpredictability and indifference would overwhelm my entire nervous system. It’s where I would learn that I could always count on dogs for solace and emotional safety.
To this day, dogs are still my favorite people, still the biggest loves of my life.
My brother and I often played in and around the apartment building with other neighborhood kids. We would play hide and seek, soccer, basketball or we would spend our time telling and listening to stories. However, my favorite thing to do was exploring the surrounding fields and eucalyptus forest with my dog Pinky. Just she and I, exploring the world, one tree at a time.
Friendly strangers
When I was sitting at the door of our apartment building with my dog, there were always neighbors coming in and out of the building. There was this young couple in particular with a newborn baby. They always seemed to struggle to get in and out of the building with the baby and their grocery bags. Every time I saw them, I rushed to the door to open it. The truth is, it made me uneasy to see them struggle so much so I always made sure I got the door for them. One day, as I was sharing my deepest secrets with my dog Pinky, they walked up to me. They told me they were moving and that they wanted to thank me for being such a thoughtful child.
What they handed to me would forever change the course of my life. It was a diary and a pen.
For me.
I now had two allies in my attempt to navigate this world as a highly sensitive child: dogs and writing.
Whenever I would feel overwhelmed, would have questions, would have sorrows, ideas, needed to get things off my chest, needed to say things I could never say out loud… I would write and I would do that for decades to come. Diaries, poetry, gratitude journals, tiny notebooks that I carry with me at all times. It all started by a simple act of kindness from friendly strangers. Though it seemed such a small and insignificant act, and they probably never would’ve guessed how this impacted my life but it did. It continues to do so.
It ignited my biggest dream, to become a writer. To inspire, to set free, to touch the deepest parts of our humanity through the written word.
The science of writing
Today I understand how this has always been and exquisite way of self-regulation. Expressive writing is in fact a way of translating our emotions and traumatic events into language. Being able to give language to our inner states, helps to integrate trauma as it is important for us to feel witnessed, even if nobody gets to read it. James W. Pennebaker has done extensive research on expressive writing and people’s mental and physical health. He discovered that people who experienced trauma and kept it secret had a greater chance at developing health problems. Expressive writing feels like a safer option than actually verbalizing your experiences to someone because it is less confrontational and nobody needs to read it in order for the person to feel witnessed.
A leap of faith
Although I’ve always wanted to become a writer, I’ve mostly kept my writing to myself. It feels scary to even consider to post my writing and thoughts for the world to read. But here I am, after more than a year of procrastinating and tinkering on my blog without actually posting anything.
I’ve ran out of excuses.
The time has come to unlearn that there’s safety in invisibility. To be honest, it feels rather suffocating to shrink yourself down.
I started to write because it allowed me to breathe, because it gave me clarity and because it helped me to remember things I was always eager to ignore. I am hoping my blog will be able to provide you, the reader, inspiration, clarity and permission to remember who you truly are and who you can become.
Welcome!
Love,
Wendy
