This piece hit me hard (in the head twice) because it feels like we’re circling the same thing from different sides.
You’re describing what it’s like when perception itself starts to wobble when faces and energy feel unsafe or unreal.
I’ve been writing lately about how my nervous system does something similar, but from the outside: the way it judges, recoils, decides who feels ‘off.’
Reading you felt like looking at the same storm, just from inside it instead of from the shoreline. It made me feel less alone in how strange this all is.
I wrote it this morning “It’s never about what they say. It’s tone. Timing. Eye contact. How close they stand. How their energy lands in the room. Something in me is running a background scan, and when it pings, I feel it long before I can explain it.
Which makes me wonder: am I broken? Picky? Spiritually defective for not being able to “see the beauty in everyone”?
It’s not quite there yet and your piece is almost a perfect mirror to what I’ve been circling all day but way way way so much deeper.
Your writing is so electric. It feels so real and unsettling (in a good scary way), Everything is felt through eyes, skin, breath, sound, timing.
I’ve been writing about:
the moment when my system goes “off, off, off” around people
You’re writing from:
what it feels like inside that “off”. It’s amazing. How do you do it? 🤯
This means a lot to me—truly. What you’re describing feels so familiar, and I love how you named it as the same storm from different sides. That’s exactly it. Inside vs. shoreline. Neither wrong. Neither broken.
That background scan you describe? The tone, timing, eye contact, proximity—yes. That’s not pickiness or spiritual failure. That’s a nervous system that learned early that safety announces itself before language does. Long before explanations catch up. You’re not failing to “see the beauty in everyone”; you’re perceiving information most people are taught to ignore or override.
What you’re circling feels honest and alive. And unfinished in the best way—the way real writing is when it’s still listening. The fact that it “isn’t quite there yet” doesn’t mean it’s lacking; it means it’s still breathing.
As for how I do it? I don’t think of it as doing, really. I slow down and let the sensation lead. I trust the body first—eyes, skin, breath, timing—before I let meaning rush in. I try not to resolve the discomfort too quickly. I stay with the wobble. That’s where the truth usually is.
You’re not alone in this strangeness. Not at all. And honestly? What you’re writing sounds like it’s right on the edge of something powerful. Keep circling. Storms reveal themselves differently depending on where you stand—but they’re still the same weather.
So writing it down helps you, but in doing so, may help others too to artuclate who aren't as masterful at doing so as you...
It is is my hope that is true my friend.
This piece hit me hard (in the head twice) because it feels like we’re circling the same thing from different sides.
You’re describing what it’s like when perception itself starts to wobble when faces and energy feel unsafe or unreal.
I’ve been writing lately about how my nervous system does something similar, but from the outside: the way it judges, recoils, decides who feels ‘off.’
Reading you felt like looking at the same storm, just from inside it instead of from the shoreline. It made me feel less alone in how strange this all is.
I wrote it this morning “It’s never about what they say. It’s tone. Timing. Eye contact. How close they stand. How their energy lands in the room. Something in me is running a background scan, and when it pings, I feel it long before I can explain it.
Which makes me wonder: am I broken? Picky? Spiritually defective for not being able to “see the beauty in everyone”?
It’s not quite there yet and your piece is almost a perfect mirror to what I’ve been circling all day but way way way so much deeper.
Your writing is so electric. It feels so real and unsettling (in a good scary way), Everything is felt through eyes, skin, breath, sound, timing.
I’ve been writing about:
the moment when my system goes “off, off, off” around people
You’re writing from:
what it feels like inside that “off”. It’s amazing. How do you do it? 🤯
This means a lot to me—truly. What you’re describing feels so familiar, and I love how you named it as the same storm from different sides. That’s exactly it. Inside vs. shoreline. Neither wrong. Neither broken.
That background scan you describe? The tone, timing, eye contact, proximity—yes. That’s not pickiness or spiritual failure. That’s a nervous system that learned early that safety announces itself before language does. Long before explanations catch up. You’re not failing to “see the beauty in everyone”; you’re perceiving information most people are taught to ignore or override.
What you’re circling feels honest and alive. And unfinished in the best way—the way real writing is when it’s still listening. The fact that it “isn’t quite there yet” doesn’t mean it’s lacking; it means it’s still breathing.
As for how I do it? I don’t think of it as doing, really. I slow down and let the sensation lead. I trust the body first—eyes, skin, breath, timing—before I let meaning rush in. I try not to resolve the discomfort too quickly. I stay with the wobble. That’s where the truth usually is.
You’re not alone in this strangeness. Not at all. And honestly? What you’re writing sounds like it’s right on the edge of something powerful. Keep circling. Storms reveal themselves differently depending on where you stand—but they’re still the same weather.
Thank you