“My imperfections made me perfect for this assignment.”
On today, I made the decision to rewrite my story. For the past couple of days, I’ve been experiencing a shift. Granted, I’m sure it has been going on for quite some time, but I literally feel different now. I feel…well, there is no other way to describe except by saying it’s different.
I don’t feel lighter. I don’t feel heavier. My energy just feels different. It’s almost as though it’s begun to embrace me fully and I’ve subconsciously decided to just go with it.
That’s why I decided to rewrite my story. In the past, I’ve lived my life in a way that meant I conformed to allow others to feel comfortable in their space. My epiphany today was that it is much easier to be someone’s statistic than to inform others that those stories and experiences are only things that happened to you – they are not you. Because I’ve felt different, I’ve started to really question, “Well, if I’m not those things, then what am I?”
It’s a hard question to ask when you have become used to being the child of an alcoholic. Or the girl who was homeless in high school. Or the girl who was abused by her alcoholic parent. Or the girl who is the product of a rape. Or the girl whose father was unavailable until he was ready to be around. Or the smart, funny girl who wasn’t exactly unforgettable.
For a long time, I’ve allowed my experiences and labels to define me. I would tell my story to other people and whatever they decided to attribute to me was fine. Sort of. It was comfortable and it made sense. Slowly, I’ve come to realize that even though the labels “made sense,” they didn’t fit. It’s almost like buying a pair of shoes that work in the store but pinch your toes when you wear them with the socks you really like. They fit…but they are tight. And it’s too late to take them back because you wore them.
That’s what a label felt like to me. They were okay but they were uncomfortable. They helped me to sort out and place my emotions. But it still felt like something didn’t click. And this is what I came to understand – a label is convenient. But what a label does is reduce you to something less complex. Labels reduce the glare of “imperfection” from the picture – you can acknowledge it but don’t point it out. Labels remove a piece of your humanity. Ultimately, labels define your existence from another person’s perspective. You accept them and you’ve allowed others to write your story.
The space that I’m in now doesn’t want me to do this any longer. I can’t continue on the path that will take me to the life I want if I continue to define myself as the experiences I’ve lived through. Yes they happened to me…but they aren’t me. I have a lot of healing to do still but accepting this truth makes things a little easier. A little. My imperfections are what they are and I make the choice today to remove the labels for the sake of other’s comfort.
I don’t know if this made sense because I feel like I’m rambling but I had to get this out. Remember your imperfections. As Lisa Nichols said, “They made you perfect for this assignment.”