Part I
Here I am, a few weeks into being dragged kicking and screaming over the threshold into my late thirties, and I can’t help but feel like a switch has been flipped. Though it’s too soon to tell which direction it turned, there has been a definite shift in perspective. It has added to a broader transition of self that has been taking place over the last 3 years. My long-blurred vision has come into greater focus, and while it can be emotionally distressing to view the trail of poor life choices that have led me here, with it I have also gained the clarity to understand why each one was necessary to my personal growth. Sometimes we need to hear/see/feel/be reminded of something at just the right time for it to resonate.
For me, putting it out here into the universe is part of my process. If by chance that happens to speak to someone in some way, that’s just icing on what I hope is a delicious cake. Thus, I’ve decided to share some of these observations as they develop, starting with one that was a difficult pill for me to swallow:
I am not the person I once was…and that’s okay.
Society wants us to believe that emotional walls are bad. That those of us who build them are cold, and uncaring. They try to make us believe that barriers are unnatural, being guarded is a flaw. But I have a sneaking suspicion such a stance has more to do with their insecurity. No one wants to be left out. No one likes to be denied access. We don’t throw our naked bodies to the masses, and say, have at it! So, if we are taught to guard our physical person, why would we be encouraged to grant free reign on our heart/soul/mind? Your mental and emotional health are at stake, you should protect that shit with your life!
Anyone who has ever truly taken the time to get to know me, knows that my heart bleeds profusely. As a result, I’ve built walls. I have always given of myself. Even when there was nothing left to give, somehow those with free reign found something to take. And so, I built walls around the walls.
I still give. I still love. I still feel. I’ve just rescinded the invitation to the show. I’ve revoked the ghostwriting privilege and changed the password on the admin account. I have evolved into a place of ownership. I own my emotions, my thoughts, my perspective. They may not always be right, but they are true. My younger self allowed too much of the surrounding world in, allowed it too much dictation. I loved as you loved, I feared as you feared, I wept as you wept, because it was you. I filled my heart with so much, and so many, it became more and more difficult to distinguish myself. Eventually I found myself feeling lost, trapped in a life designed by your decisions disguised as my own.
Learning to see people is a lesson harshly learned. I’m sure most are well-meaning, but even that usually has parameters. People want what’s best for you if it falls within their idea of what’s best for you…and more significantly, as long as it is what’s best for them. If you let it, that can fuck your heart and mind up beyond repair. I let that happen for far too long, years and decisions that can never be undone.
So, I have walls. And my walls have walls. But there are no barricades. My walls are equipped with doors and windows. I try to let enough love shine through for people to know I still care, even if they aren’t able to bask in it the way they once were. There are a few skeleton keys scattered about, perpetually housed by those I hold in the highest regard, my truest friends, my soulmates. For the first time in my adult life, that is enough. Gone are the days of chasing love and acceptance, of breaking my own heart, and spirit to briefly accommodate yours.
My time and effort are worth more than that.
My love is worth more than that.
I am worth more than that.
My hope for you, Dear Reader, is that you come to this conclusion more rapidly than I did.
We are enough.
