From a random Google search
Me! Yep, you heard me right. I made this, me, who I am and that means I have no right to blame anyone else for how I think or feel. The choices – to be happy, depressed, angry, joyful, wicked, good, mean, generous et al – were, are and will be mine to make. Yes, I am well aware that, as a child, I had no control over what was done to me (verbal/physical abuse, not sexual) but when I was freed from the confines of ‘home’ – and I use the word generally – I made every single choice then and through the years up to this day.
I chose to give up on therapy sessions because I couldn’t take the pain they evoked. I chose never to go back and to work through my issues, at first alone and then with my best friend. I chose to be angry, depressed, suicidal, to drink, to comfort eat and cry day in and day out. I chose not to keep trying various treatments for my depression/bi-polar because I didn’t like the way the tablets made me feel. I chose all that pain, all that misery, and all those days of screaming rage which didn’t just affect me, but those around me, especially said friend.
I chose to allow other people to dictate the way I lived my life. I chose not to live true to what I thought and felt because the laws, ethics, morals and religions of other people said what I thought, did and wanted was wrong… by their standards. I chose to be ashamed of myself because I put weight on, got out of shape, because I allowed other peoples judgements and opinions to dictate how I thought and felt. The infamous ‘they’ told me constantly that nothing I said or did was good, right or in accordance with their strictures and therefore I had to learn to batten down my natural impulses, thoughts and ideas to ‘fit in’. I didn’t, I could never ‘fit in’, but oh I could choose to act the part, and I did, for almost 50 years.
I chose to take on the burden of guilt. I chose to never feel good enough, to never feel I had given or done enough for everyone else. I chose to nurture every other soul but my own. I chose to allow my depression, anxieties and lack of self-worth to grow, to be fed by every action I chose which was not in accordance with what my soul wanted or needed. I chose to live a life which was no life at all, only a shell of lies and pretense built to bury the ‘unacceptable’ me, the soul who was begging to get out.
Last year I turned 50. I told myself I was going to change things. I told myself I was going to start feeding my soul and learn how to let go of guilt. I told myself I was going to learn to cope with my bad days by focusing on the positive, by not allowing the negative to overwhelm me – I told myself I was going to choose to live instead of exist.
It has taken me over a year (my birthday was in April) to get even this far. I can’t begin to pretend I am anywhere near achieving my goal, but I have made tiny baby steps. Small things like letting go of needing to help everyone and everything that crosses my doorstep. I am beginning to choose which I give help to. I am learning to choose to step back when I cannot help any more, or at all, instead of pushing on regardless, draining myself of energy, love and wisdom for a lost cause. I am choosing to say no a little more often. I am choosing to do things which please me, not everyone else. Small things, but every small step feels like a giant leap after 50 years of making the wrong choices because I thought I could not be me.
I AM ME – I am flawed, fragile, uncertain, lack confidence, wildly emotional, but I am also loving, generous, wise and stronger than I think. I can be me and I can choose not to care what anyone else thinks about that… eventually. One step at a time 😉