As I sat down to write this post I used the thesaurus to look up the word invisible.
I started writing this post with some details about my life but I’m not really convinced the story matters. We’ve all got our own shit to deal with and by writing it out just causes comparison or maybe that’s just me. Whenever I read someone else’s story my mind immediately goes to either “Damn I didn’t have that bad” or “Damn I had it worse.” Why? Why must we compare ourselves? I’m so fucking over the comparison game. I’ve been hurt, you’ve probably been hurt and somewhere along the way we’ve also hurt other people. No one is perfect and we’ve all made mistakes.
I am currently struggling with letting go of the pain of my childhood. I’ve figured out the root of the problem and I know it has to go, but….I’ve held onto it as a security blanket for so long and I’m not sure how to exist in the world without it. Who am I if I am not the secretly tortured human being with a difficult past? Who am I if I don’t have a reason to blame my piss poor behavior on someone else?
I have come to realization I am scared to be whole. I am downright terrified of becoming everything I’ve ever wanted to be because it would mean I’d be completely responsible for the outcome of my life. Imagine that.
I have no issue with taking accountability at work when I screw up. Why is this so damn hard? My story isn’t me. It’s just a story about how I see my life. If I continue to live in the past, there is no room for an improved me in the future. Hell, I won’t have a future. I’m allowing this pain to swallow me whole and keep me veiled from happiness. Lately, I wake up every day hoping life will be better and by the time I come home, I find a way to remind myself I am unwanted by my parents, my children, my friends. Not all of them actually tell me this, it’s just how my brain chooses to believe it. I allow old stories to creep in and become unsurmountable mountains when I know damn well they aren’t. It’s just my process for now and I’m sharing it in case this is happening to anyone else. I know my husband loves me but he has no idea how to deal with me when this washes over me. I have both empathy and anger at him for this. Clearly I let the anger go because how is he supposed to know what to do? I can assure you, I did not come with a manual.
I am more than a woman with a sad story.
But… Who Am I?