The Basement of My Brain: Between Here and Gone

"Hey, where'd you go?"

Words I often hear more than my own name.

The majority of the time, I'm completely fine. I just leave my body more than I'd like. To the outside world, I appear present and engaged, and at times, my sad eyes will emerge during this process.

But in reality, I have successfully entered the basement of my brain and closed the door to anyone coming down to find me.

I'm a master at dissociation.

I'll be honest. I'm nowhere to be found in these moments. I'm a screensaver.

If alone, I will spend long periods of time down here. I'll be still. Quiet. And at times, my eyes will auto-detect motion in front of me with no actual processing power behind what I am looking at. My exterior literally functions as a Ring doorbell camera with no notifications. I think you get it.

Quite frankly? I love it down here. The design of this space is a culmination of years of imagination, creativity, protection, and serenity. My heart rate drops and my breathing slows like a skilled sharpshooter. But most of all, no one can bother me while I'm in this space. Probably at the core of it is that it was built out of necessity. A place to hide, protect, and feel safe while growing up. At least, that's what therapy taught me.

But, I thought after years of therapy work, or as I got older, I would eventually close up shop, move out of this basement, or simply find a different space. But I haven't. The space has just evolved and welcomed in the change without judgment. What I've noticed lately is significantly more sunlight, sky, nature, and water. It's exquisite. What I mean by this is that this space gives me hope as well a place for my depression to speak freely. There's more color and beauty to being in this space, and it invokes different thought avenues than ever before.

It used to be a place of deep sorrow, depression, anxiety, and an unexplainable chest-crushing feeling of despair. Don't get me wrong, this room still has plenty of space for that, but with the aforementioned additions and renovations to this space, I allow for a broader range of experiences to take place that give me more balance and respite. An incredible amount of nuances.

And just like any living and growing space, it takes time to nurture, continuous care, and mandatory decluttering to appreciate the new and savior the old.

I've noticed my basement has become more welcoming as my founder journey has evolved. It brings me peace amongst all the noise, chatter, and nonsense tossed at you each day when you have a startup. It's also become a place where I can shut out the self-doubt, fear, and angst around startup life, even for just a few minutes. I can process in real-time and slow motion, but through all that, I appreciate the intricacies of exploring every corner of a challenge, thought, or experience. I don't have to explain myself to anyone; I can explore any thought that surfaces without judgment and reemerge when the timing is right. It's a slow fade-in. Back to earth. One foot at a time.

It takes a lot of work to ensure it doesn't become a distraction, however, from dealing with the hard things in my journey. It's a continuous process to remain focused, present, and engaged when demanded of me, and I've become much better at that. It's a blessing and a curse. As I get older, I appreciate the moments I've spent down here, learning and challenging myself while also opening the windows to no shame and guilt. A lifelong retreat, if you will.

But then, when no one's looking, or I have a few minutes or even seconds, I'll turn down the lights and run down there to greet whatever's pulling me inside to imagine, recharge, or possibly find answers.

~ Anonymous Founder ~