Sparrowfish HQ

Checking out. That feeling when you know you’re leaving but you’re not sure where you’re going to.

It happens when trust has been broken and old loyalties falter. It comes usually after a long period of trying to please others to keep the peace or make ‘you’ as a problem go quietly, conveniently, into the darkness, to fade away unseen. It’s a form of defacing and devaluing yourself and it can go on for years before some self-righting instinct from deep down kicks you into gear and you are propelled back into the search. For yourself. For peace. For more.

Before it happens, the earth rumbles. Birds stop singing and you feel a beat behind, a step removed. Something turns and you can smell it in the air. Something’s off. All of a sudden you feel suffocated and like you’re in a bad relationship. You need to get out.

The process of checking out begins. You see fault in people and their actions. Limitations in their abilities and short-sightedness all around you. How can they be so myopic, so incompetent at reading the signs? Can’t they see the future, where this is going? You might also start to doubt their motives and loyalties, or doubt yourself. You might see yourself as a fraud. ‘There I am, being the great pretender again. They’ve seen through me and now I must leave. I never belonged in the first place’.

You might also find that your anger kicks in, a rare feeling that manifests internally. You’ll find yourself rehearsing departure speeches in your head, and verbalising a lot of Fuck Yous to Mr Nobody while conducting your daily walks. Maybe raising a middle finger to the night sky in protest. The anger always fades when back around people.  You’ll not start a fight, you’ll battle only with your own monsters. Slap a smile on your face and think about your exit plan. Push on through until the timing is right.

You start packing your bags, drawing in the connectors, putting on protective clothing and preparing to jump ship. Never go down with the ship. It’s a great strategy. Can see you through your whole life. It’s about survival. You’re back in the ocean, that familiar waterworld with all its currents and waves to rock you and white noise to quell the big feelings, and a big empty horizon line full of possibility.

And there, in that word, is your clue. It’s a self-protection mechanism learnt in childhood. It makes perfect sense, is highly rational. Has stood you well, kept you safe.

But questions need to be asked. Like, are you really in danger? Is the ship actually sinking? What will you do once you leap? Where will you swim to? Will you just go under again? What about your plans?

What about the people who love you?

The ones you need but never ask for help?