more than one thing

and it's all true.

Do I contradict myself?
Very well then I contradict myself,
(I am large, I contain multitudes.)

-Walt Whitman, "Song of Myself," Section 51

me on the left. me on the right. via Jordan K Lancaster.

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Last week, I wrote about a nagging desire to smile and wanting the whole world to think I'm adorable. Two weeks before, I explored being compared to Wednesday Addams.

And maybe you’re thinking, “That’s weird.” You might even suspect I'm being disingenuous or constantly masquerading. Or just downright crazy: “I’m glad her parents are reading these posts now, so they can see the specific strain of insanity she’s plagued with.” Because how can a single body carry both the sardonic spirit of Wednesday Addams and the merry persona of Arlene Francis? “Pick a lane, Caroline!”

And maybe it seems like I'm always performing, switching characters to suit different audiences or situations. You might even wonder if there's any authenticity behind these seemingly clashing facades or if I'm adapting to whatever I think will be best received at any moment.

These are valid questions, and I've grappled with them myself. And I won’t deny that there are moments of deceitful self-preservation. But the truth is far more complex than insincerity.

The Wednesday in me is real. She's the part that sees through societal facades, appreciates gallows humor, engages in deep philosophical musings, and often views the world through a lens tinged with cynicism. It's not an act; it's a legitimate expression of my inner world and how I process the twists and turns of existence.

But equally real is the part of me that wants to spread joy, to be seen as delightful, to make others smile. This isn't a mask I put on to please others; it's a pure desire to connect, to lighten the mood, to find and share moments of happiness in a world that can often feel overwhelming.

Traditionally, I've reserved my Wednesday side for those who know me best — the inner circle who've earned the right to see this self. It's been my way of protecting that vulnerable part of me, ensuring it's understood and appreciated rather than misinterpreted. For a long time, I believed that only my smiling, bubbly self was acceptable to the world at large. I thought that to be liked, to be successful, to fit in, I had to routinely project a buoyant, “everything’s okay” disposition. And that’s suffocating…because rarely is everything okay.

It's a delicate balance, revealing my complexities to the world while still maintaining the depth of connection with those closest to me. And still maintaining sacred bits just for me. But this effort to showcase diverging pieces of myself isn't about performance; it's about the courage to be fully seen, even when it means challenging societal expectations of constant positivity.

We all have distinct, compartmentalized personas that emerge based on our needs, environments, and emotional landscapes. These are mine.

Lately, I've been striving to give all myselves equal airtime. I want people to see the full spectrum of who I am and what I can be.

Buckle up!

My contradictions extend beyond my personality into my daily choices. I'll have green juice for breakfast, embracing health and vitality, only to indulge in a lunch of chocolate chip cookies. My bed is a pristine cloud of crisp, clean white sheets, yet I happily let my black dog jump in, leaving paw prints and fur in her wake. I find solace in reading Thich Nhat Hanh's teachings on mindfulness and peace, yet I'm not above unleashing a torrent of curses when caught in traffic.

I’m better at holding these “small conflicts” lightly. I laugh them off as the messy reality of being human. Because it’s okay to appreciate cleanliness and also the bliss of a dog laying her tired (dirty) head next to mine. Life isn't about rigid adherence to one way of being, it's about balancing the mix of it all.

But I’m learning how the coexistence of these seemingly “larger” inconsistent personality traits isn't a sign of insincerity or "craziness” — it's a testament to the multifaceted nature of the human mind. We are not monoliths defined by a single trait or perspective. We contain multitudes, as Whitman says, and these multitudes don’t always seem like they fit together. Some are jagged. Some are smooth. But they do fit.

My body, my soul are elastic enough to hold it all. Elastic enough to let tenderness and rigidity, modesty and vanity, avarice and generosity mingle freely.

Expanding. Contracting.

Think of it like this: the Wednesday in me is the one who understands that life can be absurd. She's the one who helps me cope with challenges through drollness and unflinching honesty. But the "adorable" side is equally important. She's the one who, despite knowing life's harshness, chooses to find and create pockets of joy. Neither one is naive; both are resilient. Because they are both honest expressions of me — integral parts of my total being, synchronous and complementing. Wednesday gives depth to my cheerful side, preventing it from becoming shallow or insincere. And my cheerful side prevents my darker tendencies from becoming all-consuming, reminding me that there's always light. I need one to appreciate the other, each lending strength to the whole.

Expanding. Contracting.

Is that unconventional? Perhaps. But I doubt it. I’m pretty sure there are layers of selves within us all. And it's not weird, and it's certainly not crazy. It's wonderfully human to contain contradictions, and learning to embrace them is part of growing and understanding ourselves.

So no, I'm not disingenuous. I'm simply open to all that I am. Some days, I'm more mordant; others, I'm sunny. Most days, I'm a bit of both — my truest self.

What a miracle that a single body can contain so much!

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