I spent a lot of my life running away from myself.
I spent a long time pretending I just wanted to explore any opportunities that came my way, but the reality is that I just wanted to put space between and all of my trauma and mistakes so I could commit to being the best version of myself for my kids. Other people craved being extraordinary; I just wanted to be normal. All those things people took for granted; parents, a home, healthy interpersonal relationships, mundane lives; I would look at them with envious eyes desperate for them.

I didn’t want to face down all of the things that made me feel broken so I had a plan; just keep on moving. Eventually I’d reach a point where no one really knew who I was and I could be anyone! I didn’t have to be the broken toy with PTSD. I could be something better. So I did that. I pretended the years 19-21 didn’t exist. I moved as far away as I could. I changed my hair and my hobbies and music tastes and became someone I felt could be seen as normal. It’ll totally work, right?

I mean, it did for a bit. I was a completely different person.

I also lost every bit of my strength and character and became a whiny little bitch.
I didn’t like who I was so I decided that no one ever could and kept putting space between myself and the carefully curated version of me that I felt was okay. I stopped listening to fave songs because they reminded me of things I either didn’t want to remember because they were traumatic, or because they were happy times I ached to relive. I spent the last 14 years since my divorce trying to be someone worthy of love and friendship, someone that would be seen as a whole human and not just a fractured person with trust issues and anxiety. So I kept framing and rearranging until I could be someone that I thought I could love. Instead of wanting to be happy, I wanted people to like me. I became a people pleaser and constantly romanticized people who treated me like absolute crap.

But part of marrying your high school sweetheart is that there’s no running from the old you. You’re kind of stuck visiting your hometown and being confronted with all of the memories you long to escape. But there’s also something about healing your past traumas that allows you the space and the grace to accept the love you actually deserve and realize how unhealthy the things you allowed were. For the first time in my life I am loved for exactly who I am, both by myself and by someone else. I don’t feel like I have to pretend to be someone that’s digestible to be happy. Every once in a while I find this part of me and I live my best life, but then something happens and I go back to people pleasing. Maybe I get lonely. Maybe I worry people won’t like me if I just act like my loud, ridiculous, anxious little self. Then I find a new city, and try again to be what people want me to be so people will like me. Soon enough I’m a robot going through the motions until I feel like I don’t even recognize myself anymore.

But this time feels different. Maybe it’s because choosing self love attracted the type of love I’ve always wanted from a companion. My partner loves me for me. He’s seen the best and worst of me and all of my many personas and side quests and he still just loves me. He doesn’t just love me; he respects me, he protects my feelings, he supports me. He compliments me and shows up in a million little ways. There’s something so heartwarming about knowing someone sees you for who you are and still thinks you’re swell. So whenever It makes you evaluate how others treat you, including yourself.

I have talked about my falling out with my former best friend, but I romanticized the Hell out of that relationship. I looked at the good times and not all of the times she mocked my weight (great look from a personal trainer), or told me how I was a good small dose friend, or only called me to vent about how her husband was possibly cheating on her. I even reached out to own my part in why things went south and was met with the same old deflection and zero accountability. I realized how much I’d allowed that over the years. How I’d spent so long feeling like the person I kept running from was somehow unworthy of love or friendship. As I read through her email where she twisted the narrative about how she ghosted me and didn’t do anything wrong ever (even though I’m the one ceased communication, unfollowed and blocked her on social media). Two years ago I would have grovelled and begged for another chance and I would make myself even smaller to please them and feel worthy of a friend, but this time I felt nothing. Not even worth dignifying with a response. I don’t need to settle for friendships where my only purpose is to be a sounding board and a punching bag, and they are nowhere to be found when I need them. I reached out because I was nostalgic for the person I knew and wanted to be friends with that person, but that person doesn’t really exist and deep down I knew it. I don’t wish them ill will; I also don’t want to be friends with them. The response helped me realize that I am finally in a place of healing where I no longer have to beg people to let me take care of them. Now I ask to be an equal in all of my relationships. I’m not ashamed of my upbringing or the trauma of my early adulthood anymore. Maybe now I can finally love the girl I was so I can embrace the woman I am and finally focus only on relationships that honour me, instead of begging for scraps of friendship from people who make me feel like less than.

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