I beam.

I want to remember myself so that I don’t lose myself, again.

I scrolled through the photos, each one a trinket of the past. Memories that span heartache to wild joy. In a few, I saw Her. 

She beamed. She was unashamed. She was full.

I saved each of those images as a collection, an homage really, to the person I know I am. 

This isn’t the person I have been told I am. 

Difficult. Challenging. Controlling. Fun-killer. Hard. Rigid. Demanding. Expectant. Judgy.

I hear those words swirling over and over again. It was all I could hear.

Until I remembered myself.

For too long, I let everyone else, especially one, identify me. I believed it all. I couldn’t see out of it. And it’s not that I didn’t have moments of control, or rigidity, or judgement. I did. 100 percent. 

 But that’s not WHO I AM.

That’s the difference. That’s the change within me. The fog is lifting. The light is suddenly illuminating what I could not see before–the difference between what I know I am and what someone says I am. 

It’s a glorious lifting. Shameless and liberating. 

I could not be free to believe in who I was with him. He wouldn’t allow it. I was too scared of it. If I tried, his false beliefs would convince me otherwise. I couldn’t see outside of my own neediness.  

But, I don’t need him anymore. I don’t need someone else to tell me who or what I am. I already
know that. 

I beam. I am unashamed. I am full.