So, what’s it going to be? There’s something that I want to write, but I’m not exactly sure what that’s going to be yet. There are a lot of things that I need to say and there are a lot of things that need to be understood. But I’m not sure I’m ready yet and I’m not sure I’m there yet.
Maybe if I had had more support growing up and maybe if I had any sense of developed self-esteem, things would have turned out differently. And when I say maybe, I mean definitely. What happens when you grow up being the safety net for those who are supposed to be spending their time being your safety net? What happens if you grow up listening and never being heard? What happens when you grow up meant to feel guilty for anything having to do with self-identity?
You grow into the empty shell you were brought up to be.
The journey to finding myself has been a constant in my life. I’ve never quite been there, never reached the end goal. I’ve never been able to stand up and say, “I am ______.” Because I’m still figuring that out. And even if I think that I have an answer, chances are I’m too much of a yellow-belly to say so. Fear of judgment, fear of rejection, fear of love.
So who am I? I am a crier, a feeler, a flighter. I am an artist, a writer and a reader. I am a cheese lover, a beer lover and a lover. I’m a laugher and a joker and a midnight… omelet maker.
But I’m still lost. And I’m still searching. And I’m still trying to get used to it. And I’m still trying to let myself out and let myself be. And most of all – and most importantly of all – I’m still trying to like me.