I had a plan—a very structured plan with themes, word counts, and content calendars. I knew what I was going to write about. I had the answers. Until I didn’t.
Sometimes, you have to set it all aside and let the words flow. I’ve been exploring a specific theme in therapy. Who am I without the labels? Who am I without the structure? Who am I underneath the veneers of expectations (of myself as much as others)? Who the fuck am I? Even as I sit writing these words, I find myself stuck, unable to take a full breath. I used to unleash myself on the paper and make it dance. Where did this go? I wouldn’t say I have lost myself. Instead, there’s been a gradual process of disappearing under layers and layers of masks I had to wear to play the role of the person others needed me to be. The caretaker. The helper. The teacher. The nurturer. The overachiever. The self-sacrificing stoic. But who was I? I started to think I was none of those things. I buried my true self under years of conditioning, wounding, and unhealthy coping mechanisms. I was going through the motions of life, lost, anxious, and dissatisfied, with no real understanding of why I was doing what I was doing. My diagnosis was an undeniable turning point. Months of self-exploration and healing followed. To find myself again, I would have to strip away everything I was not. I would have to peel layer after layer of masks and facades, wounding and conditioning, to rediscover who I was at the core before the world had changed me. Some patterns and behaviors I developed over time started as a form of self-protection and safety. The need to constantly be busy, to please everyone, to have everything be perfect and in control. I learned these were trauma responses to times in my childhood when I had felt responsible for keeping the balance. For one, I grew up with an absent father who wanted to be more of a friend than a father figure. His absence and inability to reciprocate love authentically left the child in me feeling unlovable and unworthy. I would carry this wound into adulthood, constantly searching for someone or something to fill the space his absence had created. When you know where your patterns and behaviors stem from, the origin of your negative or limiting beliefs (about love, yourself, and your worth), then you start to heal. As any therapist will tell you, we cannot heal what is hidden. Therapy is uncomfortable. Exposing my deepest wounds is both uncomfortable and liberating. It was what I needed to make peace with my past. And to start finding my way back to myself. The person I am at the core has never changed. They have just been buried underneath the world's demands, waiting to be found again. On this journey back to myself, I hope I will let myself be seen… create things that bring me joy… cultivate my gifts and share them with others… follow my heart and my passions… come home to me. I need only connect with that deepest part of myself to uncover the answers I’ve been seeking. They have always been there. I just lost myself for a while, and that’s okay. We all do.
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AuthorI was born in 1986 in Lebanon. I'm still trying to find my passion in life and in the meantime I'm learning to navigate my bipolarity and redefining stability. Archives
February 2024
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