You know that scene in Forest Gump where he’s running forever in the same direction and everyone thinks it’s just the best thing ever? And then suddenly he decides I think I’ll go home now? That’s me right now. I think I’ll go home.
This year, I’ve come to the realization that I’ve kept hold of things, I mean white-knuckled-death-grip on things that were no longer bringing me joy or serving purpose because I never allowed for myself to entertain the idea of letting them go.
I don’t know how that happens exactly, but I’ve also come to the understanding that I’m not alone in this. I’m thirty years old, and only just now am I giving myself the permission I’ve needed to just be my damn self.
I’ve accepted my quirks and weirdness and would prefer not to keep any of it tucked away, hidden for fear of judgement. I’ve started to find my people, and with that I’ve learned what unconditional love and full acceptance actually feels like. And for the first time in my entire life I feel like I actually can do what I want, and that being myself isn’t anything to be ashamed of.
[Tweet “I want real and open and candid. I want purpose and relate-ability. I want to say what I need to say and maybe what you need to hear.”]
I want real and open and candid. I want purpose and relate-ability. I want to say what I need to say and maybe what you need to hear. I want to feel less alone, and I want you to feel like you’re not the only one who _____.
I’ve spent most of my life being told who I am and worse what I am. I was bullied in middle and high school for being quirky and weird, for not fitting in. I was called slut and whore for being friendly. I got chastised for talking too loud only to then have my silence misinterpreted as bitchiness. It always seemed that no matter which way I stepped, I was wrong. So after a while, I stopped bothering.
And that’s where I messed up. That’s where I failed. I stopped using my voice. I stopped trying. I allowed myself to be boxed in and bullied into submission. I allowed opinions louder than my own dictate my life.
I’ve chosen my own path. I’m doing my own thing. But if I keep it all to myself what the hell good is that doing? I’ve spent the majority of my life quietly rebelling, slamming my shoulders into the walls praying they’ll come crumbling down quietly.
And that stops now.