This is my story. I’m still writing it.
Obviously, life wasn’t always like this for me. For most of my life, I had tried to be everything I was “supposed” to be and I believed the story of “success” that was presented to me. I had done everything “right”: I did well in school, had lots of friends, was captain of my soccer team, went to college, got married, got a good job with benefits. I had a beautiful baby girl and poured everything I had into raising her right. I had molded myself seamlessly into society’s expectations.
Then my world was shattered. My fairy tale romance ended abruptly and I found myself wandering lost among the wreckage. I was (gasp! the shame!) a divorced, single mom—something I had never even considered a possibility for my life. I was scared, confused, depleted, and defeated.
Not only was I afraid to step out from the shadows and be seen, I didn’t even know who I was anymore. I felt like Julia Roberts in “Runaway Bride” where she had no idea what kind of eggs she liked, because she always ordered whatever her boyfriend/husband ordered. I was clueless as to who I actually was underneath all of the facades of fitting in. I had been pretending to like things or activities or people to make others love me. Or sometimes, just to not piss them off.
Worse, I actually believed all the crap that had been put in my head by others—that I was forgetful, incompetent, unimportant, careless. Selfish. I had spent the past decade trapped by alcoholism, abuse, fear, self-doubt, and insecurity. I spent so much time taking care of everyone else and living their versions of me that I had completely forgotten myself. I didn’t believe I had the right to my own voice. At one point I didn’t believe I had the right to exist in the world.
I had sold my soul to the bidder with the most intoxicating pheromones, and I wanted my fucking money back.
I am my own inertia.
Life without voice isn’t life. It is prison.
My existential wake up call was a metaphorical punch in the gut: a surreal, near death experience and out of body message from on high: “WTF? How much more clear can I be?”~God. My higher power was clearly losing patience with me when I moved that line in the sand, once again, and compromised not only my own life, but also my daughter’s. This time I got the message.
From that moment, I embarked on the most foreign and terrifying and rewarding journey I had ever faced. Starting from scratch, I took myself apart at the seams, and in the process of putting myself back together I realized that I only had to keep the parts of me that I wanted to.
That insecurity that’s kept me from owning my truth? Nope, kick that shit to the curb. Other peoples’ opinions of me? Nah, don’t need those. Walking on eggshells? Get boots with thicker soles. And steel toes. Not rocking the boat to avoid conflict? Screw that. Bring on the storm.
I shifted 180 degrees from my comfort zone of blending in, content wearing earth tones in the background of life, believing I had nothing important to say, to discovering, “Holy shit, my favorite color is rainbow!” And I had a helluva lot to offer the world.
It hasn’t been easy. For a long time, I struggled with the concept of “self-care”. I intrinsically knew that self-care = selfish. I had been conditioned to put everyone else’s needs and wants above my own. So when it came time to focus on myself, I had every excuse in the book. My daughter needs me. The house needs cleaning. The hermit crabs needs attention…(…really?!?). But eventually, those excuses lost out to the feelings I experienced when I took care of myself, and how crappy I felt when I didn’t.
I’m no good to anyone when I’m disconnected from myself.
A few summers ago, I had the opportunity to go on a Right Livelihood Quest, a 4-week journey into my callings and what I have to offer the world. It was during this quest that I discovered my greatest gift I have to offer: being a keeper of safe space. It made perfect sense once I thought about it—my entire life, people have come to me for an ear. Not necessarily for advice, or for problem solving, but to simply be heard. To be supported, and loved for exactly who they are. Also, the “keeper” piece fit: I was one helluva goalkeeper, broken noses aside.
“Life is short” may be cliché, but it’s also true. I am reminded of this every day, as I witness my daughter grow and experience life with wonder and awe. She shows me that life shouldn’t be a struggle or a chore. Life should be extraordinary, breathtaking! Just the fact that we’re alive in this universe is incredible.
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