Sometimes, I feel like I know exactly who I am. I see myself with picture perfect clarity. I see every nook and cranny. I see my flaws and my favors, wrapped up nicely in this life I have made. But, other times, I feel like I’m made of smoke. At the mercy of the wind, with no way to guide my direction and no weight to keep me grounded. Swayed to the left and right by my mood swings, and held down by the convictions and opinions of others. Or even the heavy weight I place on myself. Seeing yourself in a positive way is hard. It’s harder than it looks, harder than it sounds and it’s not a one and done job. My self worth is not a box to be checked off a list. I am not an afternoon errand to run or a craving to be satisfied. And I think that’s kind of great. It’s a ridiculous thought that my happiness is so one dimensional that I’m just a list of TO DOs in order to keep me afloat.
In my mind, I’m easy to please, haha.
In reality though, I can be a force of nature. I’m a bit of a pain to be honest. Even to myself, I think, Julie, why?
But then I remember. I remember what it felt like to shrink myself down so small that I tried to be a speck of dust. I tried to make myself so insignificant and so transparent to not be a burden to anyone. In my mind, it was noble. It was brave. It was satisfying. And damn, I was good at it.
But you know what is wasnt?
It wasn’t sustainable. It wasn’t healthy. It wasn’t joyful. It was draining.
Ain’t nobody got time for that.
Whenever I lose sight of who I am, I realize it’s not that I can’t see clearly anymore. It means my perspective has changed. It means I’m looking at my life and myself from a perspective that maybe be skewed. Through a lense that to be honest, it’s kind of lousy. Like honestly, who am I competing with? The super successful woman who has a nanny and six figure job? The Instagram models? The 22 year old girls at the Wharf? Girls who’s life has barely begun? And good for them! Let them be beautiful and blemish free. But they aren’t the measure I should be comparing anything to.
For one thing, I am not 22. Or a model. Or a entrepreneur. I’m a single mom of 2 kids.
So my perspective needs to be adjusted from time to time. If not, I’ll feel empty inside, comparing my life to people who have never walk in my shoes, gone through my heart ache or lived a day in my life.
I need to be reminded. More often than I care to admit. Sometimes it’s humbling. Sometimes it’s gratifying. Sometimes it’s both.
At the end of the day, I have to remember that I am beautifully and wonderfully made. God knit me together in my mother’s womb. The same God that spoke the stars into existence, knows my name. I am the apple of my fathers eye. I am the provider and protector of my children. I am a fierce friend. Loyal. Strong willed. Courageous. And damn it, I like who I am. I never, ever again want to feel the pressure to be anything less than myself.
So when I look down at my life, and all I see is what I lack? I realize that I’m not where I should be. When I find myself again, it’s a sigh of relief. Like when you place a cold hand in a warm pocket. The cold parts about me start to thaw and I see that I don’t have to grind my teeth or cross my arms and pout. I can stretch. I can run. I can throw confetti around and celebrate all the wonderful things that I’ve created because they SHOULD be celebrated. Not only because I’ve come out of a hard season of my life. It should be celebrated because it makes life better, in my opinion anyways. So I may endulge in an over priced latte, or stay up later than I should, watching another TikTok, my new guilty pleasure. Doesn’t make me shallow. Or wasteful. It makes me human. And I don’t care what the old self hate screams at me when I tell myself that I’m pretty great. She was silenced the moment I decided that I didn’t have to listen to her anymore. I tell her SILENCIO BRUNO! (Go watch Luca for reference)
At the end of the day, Im a BAMF. (google it or listen to Dane Cook, whatever is easier).
And nothing can change my mind.
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