You don’t have to be an immigrant or bi-racial to relate to the I’m-not-this enough-or-that-enough experience (though if you are, you definitely are going to feel this one). We all have a natural desire to feel belonging. We all want to feel at home in spaces that we relate to. We all want to feel worthy in our identity. Unfortunately, these feelings are not as easily attainable as we would hope, especially when we spend most of our lives sculpting ourselves to fit into spaces that aren’t shaped for us.
When I first moved to New York City, well over a decade ago, I would feel hyper-emotional during my flights to and from Toronto to visit my family. In New York, I had this beautiful everyday life that didn’t include my family and in Toronto, I had this beautiful family that didn’t include my everyday life. My sister helped me change my perspective to appreciate that I have two homes, instead of feeling a constant emptiness in both cities. This is an analogy for what we are all looking for: home.
Throughout my life, I have be tested in various situations where I could feel the thought bubbling: you’re not this or that enough. Being racially ambiguous, I have spent my life being too dark or too light in nearly every room. Being an immigrant, I have also spent my life not feeling true belonging in countries that I have immigrated to and from. In fact, just yesterday, I was told to “go back to my country”, and it triggered that emotion all over again. How can I value my enough-ness? How do I become my own home?
Society has done a terrific job at pushing a scarcity narrative, a story of lack, and breeding people who soak in their shame. Not strong enough, smart enough, beautiful enough, rich enough, man enough, woman enough, it doesn’t end! If that isn’t damaging in itself, this lack-of narrative has stunted many of us from sharing our own stories because we feel alone in them. We don’t represent our real experiences because we believe they are unique to us, and that no one will understand. But what I’ve learned, in half a decade of creating safe spaces for people to share stories, is that this is far from the truth. I would say that every emotion and experience can be related to, and upon sharing, we inspire others to speak their truth too.
I spent the majority of my life assimilating, initially for survival purposes, and eventually because it had become my strongest muscle. By a certain age, representing my own story felt as unnatural as feeling belonging. The first step was validating that my experiences are enough, instead of shaping them to look like other people’s. It was only two years ago, in an Upper West Side theatre, that I watched a majority white audience respond to a play that depicted an Afghan household. The smallest, most normal (to me) details, like how we eat and pray, were ooh’d and aah’d around. I thought to myself, oh that’s right—these small, normal parts of my life aren’t represented, and it set me off on a journey to reflect on how much of my experiences aren’t being represented.
That brought me to step two: representation. After validating your experiences, you have to start sharing them with others. I had spent so many years altering my truths to fit in, that I hadn’t paid mind to telling my truths. It’s no different than on social media, where we can get caught up in posting for likes from people, or we can post to attract likeminded people. It happens to the best of us. We all want to be loved and feel at home.
You are not alone in feeling lack of belonging. You are not alone in seeking shelter in people’s hearts. You are not alone in what you’ve felt and seen in life. You are not alone in being scared to share or not knowing where to start. But dear friend, there is nothing more lonely than turning your back on your stories, your authenticity, and your truth.