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.