Stop Telling Yourself Lies About Who You Are
I’ve started five different letters to you in the last two weeks, but none of them felt right. They all felt insincere and forced. The truth is, I’m struggling to find anything lighthearted to say so I’m just going to be candid.
I’m in a rainy season. The storm has been hovering over me for months leaving momentarily and returning with hurricane force winds. And although it feels like I’m drowning daily, I know it’s just a season.
This year alone: I’ve been divorced. I had my personal possessions burned in a backyard bonfire by an angry ex. I’ve had all my choices judged and continuously scrutinized by friends and family alike. I’ve gained weight. I had to give my ex-husband two of our pups. I’ve been called every name in the book (and we’re not talking children’s stories here). I gave an old flame another chance and he burned me, burned me and then burned me some more. I’ve lost all self-confidence and decision-making skills. At one time it seemed like I was even losing my self-respect. I’ve cried until I’ve been sick. I’ve battled depression, anxiety and had to remind myself multiple times I do not have COVID, I just drank too much wine.
I’m walking through grief and it’s painful. But I want to feel it all. I don’t want to become numb to what life has to offer, because this storm WILL pass and what’s coming is so much sweeter.
So, even though I want to sit on the couch – crying, pantless, and drinking wine from the bottle, I won’t (anymore).
Maybe this is just a letter to myself, but somehow, I think you needed to hear this too. It’s okay to not be okay. Sit in it, but don’t live in it. Don’t make yourself a home in your grief.
Today, I finally decorated my house. I’ve been moved in for five months and I had nothing hanging on the walls. Not one thing. Anyone who knows me, knows I usually have the entire house unpacked and decorated within a week. At first, I told myself it was in case the old flame and I worked out. Maybe he would want a say as to how we decorated so he felt at home – why decorate twice, right?
But recently, I saw a picture of myself from the summer after I graduated high school. She was standing on a table, flexing, full body laughing in an outfit that didn’t match with no makeup on - painfully confident and truly happy. She was feeling herself. And I realized I didn’t recognize her. This girl with big dreams and actual self-esteem was now foreign to me.
Would she be proud of who I am right now? Hell no.
When did I stop asking myself what would make me happy? When did I start being reactive to my life rather than proactive? When did I start telling myself lies?
Some lies I’ve told myself just this year:
You’re not enough. Not for anyone.
Maybe you deserve the way he treats you.
You can’t be a writer – at least not a decent one.
You are fat – you’ll never lose the weight. Don’t even try.
You can’t do it. They’ll notice it doesn’t come easily to you. You’re a fake.
Maybe he didn’t mean to hit you. You shouldn’t have provoked him.
They will change. They just need another chance. And another. And another.
Maybe this is as good as it gets.
And so many more. But that’s all they are – bald-faced lies.
We feed ourselves lies every day until we are so full we have failed ourselves before we’ve even started. Believing these fictions is partly why my year has been so stormy.
Not decorating was a lie I told myself, because hanging things felt like having to know myself. This is my house. These walls reflect me at Chapter 31: A newly single woman living on her own who has absolutely no idea who she is or what she loves. What do you put on walls when you feel bare?
But here’s the truth, my friend. You and I are absolutely remarkable and capable of anything.
Try everything. See what sets your soul on fire. Then chase it, unapologetically.
I’m here, learning right beside you.