Aspects of me that I do not know underpin my journey through life. It is almost frightening to think that, from the recesses of my mind, what I do not know drives my reactions to living.

Some of these factors were lost in memory or hide effectively. Others I buried deliberately. Many scratch the surface of consciousness and almost show themselves. Others are deeply submerged and I know that, even from the shadows, they sabotage and destabilize my ways and means of managing life.

Going on without knowing and understanding these pieces of me can be very abrasive. It can demand great effort. It can consume valuable spaces of living. I will take you, reader, to some of these corners, on a kind of via crucis, with steps and reflections, falls and weariness, pain.

At the first station, the affection, caresses and care received (or not) are there as solid points for strengthening self-confidence and self-esteem, even if not available for immediate recall. The painful, abrasive, violent messages are there in the form of scars. And they calibrate my closeness to or distance from people and from myself.

The record of people who are sources of emotional nourishment and qualification is part of this first collection. The greater the abundance, the more conditions I will have for some autonomy in decisions and relationships. The greater the scarcity, the more I will be abducted by control and by the manipulation of people and contexts.

I continue the reflective journey and find the image I have of myself in relationship with people and realities, built from my early relationship with my caregivers and dependent on how available the adults were for validation, appreciation, recognition and unconditional love. Here is the position from which I perceive, relate, communicate and move through days, months and years.

Nowadays, more reconciled with my history, I am able (for longer and longer periods) to look at myself with consideration. I extend the same look to my fellow travelers. There was a time when it was not simple. I swung from the darkest benchmark of self-esteem to a superiority fantasized in order to survive. It was painful, intensely. There are many stories in that sinkhole. One day they will be told.

Stored in a well-hidden little corner is a consistent, continuing fear of facing objective reality. Planted in childhood, from the absence of a repertoire for analysis and decision, often generated by a lack of clarifying dialogues with compassionate adults.

Without knowing what to think, what to do or how to name what one feels, avoiding and disqualifying can be a survival exit. And it was for a long time and, by seniority, still appears as a great saboteur, protecting me from confrontations, responsibilities and commitments. A fear that is less and less present, less and less heavy. But still lurking. Ready to attack.

Disguised in colors, in a dark corner (or even a lit one), is fantasy. Ready to create plots about the past and the future. Ready to elaborate plots about events, situations, people. Some attractive, others dark. The interesting ones protect me from boredom; the insidious ones keep me from people. Because, in building hypothetical scenarios, they also produce “fanciful” expectations. With little contact with objective reality, these expectations are the opening act for serial disappointments and the isolation that follows.

Near the end of this chronicle, I am struck by a thought that frightens me. These aspects above I was able to recognize, describe and even name. How many others live in my mental attic, steps of this sophisticated via crucis, and I do not even know what they are like or how they affect my thinking, feeling and doing! I keep observing myself, the impacts I have on the people I meet and the observable traces of my inner dialogue. No chance of boredom!