to Fit in the Box Anymore
At a very young age, we were all gently and sometimes firmly trained to fit neatly into a box. Parents, relatives, teachers and entire communities became architects of our behaviour. We were taught how to act, how to react and most of all, how to be acceptable.
Where I come from, good manners were not optional; they were the foundation of character. You had to move gracefully, speak respectfully and mirror perfection at all times. A young lady did not simply exist but represented her family. And representation demanded composure, silence and the art of pretending everything was fine.
Over time, the constant repetition of this behaviour turned performance into identity. It became natural to smile when tired, to apologize when right and to hide opinions behind polite nods. Psychologists would call this social conditioning: a process where the need for belonging overrides authenticity. We confuse approval with affection and compliance with peace.
One day, during Sunday school, while debating yet another religious theme, a wild thought slipped quietly into my mind. It felt unholy and almost rebellious. What if... what if I said what I actually think out loud? The question sent a strange thrill down my spine. Would they still like me? Would I be whispered about later or silently corrected with a look?
Before I could stop myself, I spoke. The cat was out of the bag and the silence that followed was priceless. Eyes widened, mouths hesitated between disapproval and disbelief. It was the most alive I had felt in years.
From that day on, I found pleasure in pushing those invisible walls. Slipping in small provocative phrases just to watch reactions ripple across faces. I called it my “little social experiment” though it was really an early study of human nature. Psychologist Solomon Asch once proved how easily people conform to group opinions even when those opinions are wrong. I was witnessing that experiment live. How silence can be louder than truth and how few dare to break it.
It became a game, one that revealed how fragile our sense of order truly is. Most people want the world to stay predictable, symmetrical and safe. The moment something challenges that symmetry, fear shows itself, often disguised as politeness. I saw it in the way conversations shifted, in the nervous laughter, in the avoidance of eye contact.
After a while, my thrill of rebellion softened into reflection. I realized I wasn’t trying to provoke for amusement anymore but was surely trying to breathe. My box had become too small and my curiosity was simply the air escaping through its cracks. Carl Jung would call this individuation (the process of becoming who we truly are by integrating the parts of ourselves we once hid to survive).
Speaking my truth wasn’t always comfortable for others. Some people drifted away, others listened only to correct me. But their discomfort taught me something vital: authenticity has a cost. You lose some company but you gain your voice. You lose approval but you find peace.
I began to understand that freedom doesn’t always look graceful. It can be messy, lonely and misunderstood but it is also the most honest place to exist. I would rather hear the naked truth a thousand times than a polite lie wrapped in good manners.
All I ever wanted was to be seen for who I truly am and definitely not for the version that pleased others. And then it dawned on me ... maybe I don’t have to fit into the silly box at all. Maybe I can belong to many or to none. Abraham Maslow believed self-actualization is the moment we stop seeking permission to be. That realization became my quiet revolution.
We are not made to be contained; we are made to expand. To evolve. To unlearn the rules that keep us small. The world prefers categories but the soul prefers contradictions such as being both light and dark, disciplined and wild, composed and curious or just all at once.
So if you ever feel misplaced or misunderstood, perhaps you were never meant to fit neatly anywhere. Maybe your edges were made to stretch beyond definitions to be able to touch many worlds at once. The beauty of becoming is not in being contained but in remaining fluid enough to grow, to unlearn and to begin again.
We are all fragments of countless selves constantly rearranging. That’s not confusion, that’s called evolution.
Reflection
When was the last time you caught yourself adjusting to meet expectations that weren’t yours?
Which parts of you are still waiting for permission to be seen?
What would happen if you stopped shrinking and allowed all your versions to exist at once unapologetically and whole?
What a great story that lot of parents can relate to.
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