I’ve always found it really hard to like myself, which is why, I suppose, I always assume other people won’t like me either. I constantly have a fear that the relationships I’ve cultivated in my 26 years of life are specifically because other people must have felt sorry for me, or they were too polite to tell me that they don’t want me around. Even the relationships I’ve had with friends and family.
Sometimes, I’m too loud. Sometimes, I’m too passionate. At other times, I’m too quiet or too much of a pushover. I feel like I consistently have to monitor who I am as a person just to make sure that the people I love don’t leave me when they find out what a mess I am. This is exhausting. No wonder I’m tired all the time. I don’t know how the frickity-frack-paddy-whack chameleons manage to change their skin to their environment. I’ve done it for 26 years and I just can’t keep up.
What happens when the personality I use around my family, bleeds over into who I am with my colleagues or clients. Or what happens when I finally discover who I am at heart, and nobody likes me for it.
I think what I have to realize, is that I need to like me. It doesn’t matter if other people think I’m too loud, or to quiet. What matters, is that I’m loud when I feel like I should be. I take time to be quiet, when I think someone else should be heard. And maybe, all those little pieces and personalities that I break off into in different environments, when glued back together, are me. And I was never fractured in the first place.
I am a mosaic of my past, present and future, and it’s okay to still be figuring out who I am. Maybe, I’m meant to evolve.
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