Type 9, maybe 6, probably more.

been reading a bit about enneagram personality types lately.  i’m slow on work for the next two weeks or so and i’ll have too much time to fill.  i know, i should be so much more appreciative of this time, but i struggle with how to fill it in a way that feels productive, and no, the presents are still not wrapped.  so, i’m reading here and there. and sometimes a thing gets wrapped. it’ll all get done.

so the thing about personality types, and myself, in general… i’m way bigger than they are. way.  we all are.  but, as i’ve been reading, i’ve been seeing a clear arrow to what is mine, well, more than one clear arrow.  but i’m certain, for sure, what is not mine.

sometimes the work happens even in that tiny deciding… i may be this, but i KNOW i ain’t that.

and how can i use this information to investigate my own patterns…. how?  i think i’m a 9, as far as this system goes, I know i’m not a 3, and I know i’m only parts of 6.  I’m working my way forward…

and i don’t think i’ll lay down any bricks around my number, i’m not moving in… but thinking about myself in the abstract is a damn good exercise. because its pretty damn easy for me not to, at all, in the frenzy of kid-rearing and house maintenance.  I’ll take my pieces of recognition and run off. offt.

there’s a lot about how you saw yourself as a kid here, and i was both fear-oriented at times, and felt overlooked at others. (sometimes happily… middle child shenanigans) …

i’m still pretty fear-oriented and i did feel surprise at realizing that… how to watch people, find out what is going to happen by watching body language and knowing patterns in other people and do everything possible to mitigate something that hasn’t even happened yet.

i used to hide from my angry dad under the piano. it was a terrible hiding place, totally ineffective.  i used to wait for my alcoholic spouse, and watch him get out of the car to see how much he’d had to drink before he came into the kitchen. I was always, always right. The commonality between the two experiences has blown my mind a little. ‘wait til your father gets home’… takes on a new level of weight.

there is so much here, and spending time and consideration on thinking about myself could possibly be helpful as i move on ahead in my life.


my dad would call in navel-gazing.   i love him a lot. did, do, all that. i, evidently, also love my navel.


out of order text on persons belly
Not my belly. but pretty damn fitting.  Photo by Kat Jayne on   

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