Pieces of You

These last months have been fraught with agonizing introspection and exhausting realization. So much of who I was has disappeared as I have molded myself into this rigid vision of what a "married woman" is and should be. Why I feel the need to "define" myself is just another element of my OCD that has become my entire adult psyche. And yet, illuminating these parts of myself makes me feel a little like Sybil and a little more like a human being. However, ignoring the legos that built my adolescent and young adult life has created a bit of a Jenga tower that recently became very tipsy.

I am still organized and responsible. I take risks, but only after they are ultimately calculated to the nth degree. "I don't tie my shoes without a backup plan." While this used to be endearing it has become more of a compulsion than a quirk. This structure and conformity helps me to lead a manageable life where the dishes get done and the bills get paid and the credit score improves and the "American Dream" can flutter just out of grasp for another month, the ultimate carrot that pulls away as I push closer. I know where my paycheck is coming from and how much it will be for. I have health insurance and car insurance and life insurance. I pay for things that I will need in "an emergency" and I invest in my retirement fund. My day to day is functioning in a way that seems typical to those on the outside. The status quo is maintained no matter what's thrown our way and of course, I can handle it. It=anything and everything. I'll come back to this in a moment.

So what's missing?

I realized that there are a few pieces of me that have absented themselves in the last five years. Perhaps even longer than that. As I reflect on the woman, well, the girl I used to be, I notice that there is a vastly different level of optimism and energy. I see the world differently. I see conflict differently. I even see myself differently.

There are parts of me that have become so much more angry and bitter, disillusioned with humanity. I am actively losing confidence in some friends and family, old and new. The doldrums strike for longer and I notice that I throw my hands in the air with defeat more often. I laugh less and I'm developing permanent frown lines and bags under my eyes. When a person snaps, I snap back. I find I've got so much to say that I have a hard time listening. My opinions have become much less accepting and my righteousness is rampant. I just CAN'T take the time to understand why people act the way they do. My curiousity about the human spirit and mind makes choices is pushed aside as I roll my eyes in snap judgement.

The irony is that I am the most self loathing person I know. I judge myself the most harshly. Between my weight and my attitude I am ashamed at what I've become. The exterior facade has become nothing to be proud of. Instead of being a strong, independent, 'roll with the punches' woman I am cold, rigid, and lack sponteneity. It's unattractive, depressing, and repels others. People used to enjoy being around me. I was the life of the party and now I have become the "friend" who doesn't find out about the party. Rightfully so. Noone wants to be around the negativity that has become my little black soul.

There's also a little person in me. One that craves the wonder that comes with discovery and just doesn't understand why the world can be so unfair. She's a little girl that wants to live on Prince Edward Island in a castle like the Tower of London and play with Teddy Ruxpin, her must favoritest friend in the universe. A little girl who wants to be able to cry without feeling embarassed and who can spin around in a dress without telling herself to grow up, be an adult, and double check her makeup and hair to assure that it wasn't mussed.

There are more pieces. More emotions. More traumatic neurological pathways to exhaust. I thought bravery was stoicism. It's not. There's a lot of backtracking I have to do to allow myself to feel what I should have felt all that time ago. And I think the hardest part is asking for people to see that side of me. My expectation is lack of acceptance. Surprise me, please.
Self-actualization has to allow each of these pieces of me to