It is interesting to start to have a dream. Something that I want to do with my life. Seeing possibility. For as long as I can remember I’ve seen the struggle, I’ve seen closed doors, I’ve seen myself trying so hard to get by. Really just a grown up wounded child. I’ve spent the past couple years healing, and it’s amazing how much has changed. My whole demeanor. I no longer consider myself the “nice guy”. Maybe there’s a reason they finish last. Because they put themselves on the back burner. There’s talk of villain eras, but maybe for the first time in my life I have self respect and boundaries.
So I have dreams. They were never clear to me before, I never had a clear path, never knew what I liked let alone what I wanted to do. But now that I know, and I’m trying to build up the courage to force myself to do it, I find that it’s still difficult. “No one cares what I create, this isn’t that good. You really aren’t talented. Why even bother moving forward.” These are all thoughts that popped in my head last night, and to be honest it’s a little frustrating. I’ve come so far from where I’ve been I thought that I had outgrown this mindset. But maybe that’s why this dream isn’t a reality yet. Maybe there is still work to do here. The most important thing is I’m not beating myself up for it. I’m telling myself it’s ok today. I worked on my dream a little bit last night, as those thoughts were crippling my brain. I stopped and was exhausted soon after. This morning as I’m gathering how I feel I’m writing this. To work out the kinks. To try to make sense of this blockage.
The thing is, I was always told I was worthless. That cannot be undone. All I can do is make sure I do things differently for my son. The past cannot be erased, the mental beatings on my psyche. Those ghosts may forever continue to haunt me. The difference now is that I recognize its not real. I see that those ideas were placed there about me, but they are just an opinion of a woman who is very sick mentally. They are not reality, they don’t have to be my personality. I don’t have to feel small or weak. I don’t have to feel worthless for eternity. I can be gentle with myself. I can tell myself what I would tell my son. I would be encouraging. I would tell him to keep going. To not give up. To do what he loved. To never stop.
It can be disorienting to change your entire perspective on yourself. The one that was given to you by your parents. Especially if it was coated in darkness. I think that if it’s not removed it will start to eat away at you. You inadvertently give your life away to the monster in your head. Your first bully. Your mother. The one that was supposed to love and support you.
Every day I work towards rewriting my narrative.
The Girl Without A Face 