"a more complex psyche than I would ever imagine you to have."

estimated read time: 3 minutes

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A few weeks ago, a loved one replied to one of my substack posts:

“Wow. Katie, you have a more complex psyche than I would ever imagine you to have.”

I stared for several long seconds at my computer screen before replying with a heart emoji and closing my laptop with a thud. Hmm, I thought. Ouch.

Weeks later, and these words are still ricocheting around my brain like a boomerang, struggling to settle or see themselves out the front door. The words were meant as a compliment, of this I am sure. But it’s hard to not feel the sting of the insult I have always feared surrounded me.

The caverns inside my brain are deep and dark, carved by years of a fierce imagination, hundreds of books consumed, an education taken seriously and gratefully. And yet, there are countless nonfiction volumes I have started and abandoned, unable to comprehend and enjoy what was being presented. I often take leave from heated debates - not because I don’t deeply care and haven’t formed opinions, but because in the heat of the moment my words tangle, my facts scatter, my eloquence dissolves under pressure. I value my alone time dearly, so am known to leave social gatherings early, often missing the late night talks that are finally unearthed after hours of chit-chat and glasses of wine.

But surely I can still be considered relatively smart, seemingly capable of forging friendships, connecting with strangers, comprehending (most) articles and having unique thoughts and opinions? I’d like to think so. So how can it be so that a loved one I’ve known and broken bread with for over 24 years can think my psyche incapable of articulating an elaborate dream?

When I think back on our conversations and our relationship, I think of pleasantries. The weather. Recent travel. Upcoming plans. We have never debated free will or determinism, never discussed spirituality, never shared political leanings at length, and have barely scratched the surface of our unique hopes and fears.

And doesn’t this happen far too often? We keep topics light and assume depth either isn’t there, or isn’t welcome. We tread lightly, afraid to insult or pry. We don’t lie on our backs beneath a velvet-black sky freckled with burning light, comparing theories on the great beyond.

It’s hard to imagine that other people’s brains are as busy as our own. That every human carries an entire universe inside their head - thousands of memories, relationships, thoughts firing like firecrackers day and night. To varying degrees of course, we are all deeply complex, living lives that are idiosyncratic and fragile. And yet this is easy to forget.

That comment has humbled me, as putting our work out into the public world often does. If someone can mistake my brain for something as simple as the morning dew, well then, what false assumptions of others am I guilty of? What rich inner worlds have I dismissed simply because they weren’t offered to me outright?

And maybe it’s on me to not allow others to think of me simply. To speak my mind more, challenge myself with harder articles, to debate without fear of failure in the forefront of my mind. To write write write.

Perhaps complexity lives quietly, waiting for the right question, the right safety, the right stillness. And maybe the real failure isn’t in being misunderstood - but in how rarely we make space to truly know one another at all.