Normalize being your best self (for yourself).
Lately, I haven’t had very much to say. I’ve been struggling with depression, but I think it just recently hit me that I’m actually … depressed. It’s a word that people throw around a lot (I’m one of them), but when you really sit down and think about it and acknowledge it — I’m depressed, I’m depressed — it sort of hits differently (more like a ton-of-bricks kind of differently).
And it’s not fun.
Everything you used to enjoy feels bland. The sound of your own thoughts starts to drive you insane. And the whole while you’re feeling bad, you’re blaming yourself for feeling bad. What kind of sense does that make? Me being a lifelong people pleaser, I’ve always felt the need to explain why I am the way I am and why I feel the way I feel, as opposed to simply being me and trying to remain kind and considerate of others in the process?
Now, there’s so many problematic things about that kind of thinking. But the irony of “people pleasing” is, in trying so hard to be mindful of the thoughts, opinions, and feelings of others, you’re neglecting your own thoughts, opinions, and feelings, which is essentially being completely inauthentic and “fake”, as the young people call it these days (I say this and I’m 25 lol). So if you really want to please somebody, be kind to yourself — be yourself. But try and be the best version of you that you can be.
I lost my grandma (and 5 other loved ones) last year, 2020, the Year that will forever live in infamy. I swear I have not been the same since. I think of life differently. I think of death differently. I think of intimacy differently. I think of God differently. I guess in trying to expedite the grieving process I didn’t allow myself to feel. Now, a year later I feel everything.
When I’m happy, I am HAPPY. Can’t tell me nothing. I’m here, there, and everywhere. When I’m mellow, I’m mellow. But when I’m down, boy, am I down. Eventually, I burnt out, like a dying flame, until I felt my joy transform into nothing but ashes. But after every wildfire comes new life. Sometimes things have to die for other things to live. It sucks but, literally, it’s life. And I’m not justifying the death of my loved ones, by any means. I miss them to the moon and back. But they aren’t coming back, and if I don’t let that chapter of my life go, I’ll never remember them for the people they were in life.
Also, if I don’t let them go, I’ll never come back from this.
I’m simply saying that a part of ourselves has to be stripped away to make room for something else better. We’re never going to be perfect in the “squeaky clean” sense, but being true to ourselves makes us perfect.
Pre-COVID, I was a “yes girl”. I talked crap about people. I was cynical. I did things I didn’t want to do and blamed the people around me for not being the best people when they were actually being the better people by being honest and true to themselves. I tried to mirror myself in the way that I thought people wanted me to be. TLDR: I was fake.
Now reality hits and I’m forced to confront my true self: (A) the girl who sits by the pool with a giant Stephen King book while the other kids play in the pool because the book was just too good to put down for an hour; (B) the girl who sends friends 10,000 songs a day they should listen to because it’ll change their life (I have Facebook message receipts of me torturing middle school and high school friends like this — ah, the good days); (C)the girl who enjoyed long car rides with the family, riding with the windows down on a sunny day, in her dad’s jet black ’95 maxima, bumping some Gap Band, not even worried about bumblebees; (D) the girl who used to want to be a vet because she loved animals that much; (E) the girl who posted goofy pictures on Instagram without the need to find the perfect lighting or angle; (F) the girl who wasn’t afraid to be honest with people because she was living an honest life, herself; (G) the girl who enjoyed having 2–3 hour conversations on the phone about everything under the sun for the sake of sharing your likes, dislikes, and joys with other people like normal people (should) do.
What happened to that girl? (A) She rejected her introversion and didn’t want to seem “nerdy” and boring anymore, so she stopped reading for fun and started tweeting more; (B) She likes the oldies, but didn’t want to seem lame by sending people 20–50+ year old songs that she thought they wouldn’t care about; (C) Okay, to be fair, she’s always been phobic of anything that stings but this girl is afraid to live fully in the moment, and spends most her time worrying all the bad that could come of a perfectly innocent situation — thanks anxiety; (D) She’s horrible at science and math and didn’t think she could endure eight years of school because she’s never been smart enough, plus a business degree is more practical; (E) She now thinks her face is asymmetrical and she doesn’t know how to do her hair or make-up, so she doesn’t post selfies anymore, goofy or not; (F) She shy away from all forms of confrontation, even if it’s the best thing for her and the other party involved; (G) The girl who often uses her introversion as an excuse for self-isolation to avoid expressing what she’s really going through to those around her
Mind you, that’s an abbreviated list. Throw in a pinch of anxiety and a dime sized amount of mild depression and you’ve got a recipe for “The Unfulfilled Life”. But I’m honest to God tired of that second girl. Hence, why I’m mentally worn out. It’s exhausting trying so hard to make your entire identity palatable for others. I miss being alone and being okay with it. I miss being excited about the things I enjoyed and wanting to share it with others. I miss wanting to be a vet (and am really starting to question is a business corporate environment healthy for my sanity). I miss younger me’s mental vigor and imagination. I honestly believed that anything was possible, like becoming the next Mariah Carey or Whitney Houston. Yes, I actually believed I, and my best friend at the time, were going to blow up one day and be like them (even though my singing voice sounds more like a Hyena compared to their extraordinary voices).
But you know what? There’s no telling what I could’ve accomplished if I had just kept dreaming. But it’s never too late.
It seems like there’s a rule or expectation for everyone these days. If it’s X, then it’s Y, so the outcome must be Z. But I think what some people fail to realize at times is that everyone’s X, Y, and Z are different. No, I don’t feel okay, but that is okay, and I don’t owe anyone any explanation for not feeling okay. All I’m obligated to do is to keep trying to feel better. Once I better appreciate myself and all the wonderfully beautiful little things that come with Me, I can better appreciate the world around me.
So, the next time you feel yourself trying to stifle your authenticity, do something that’s so “you” it’ll shock the people around you. Get that tattoo you’ve always wanted. Dye your hair blue. Show a little more cleavage. Turn your camera off in a meeting every once and awhile. Say no if you want to say no without any explanation. Scream at the top of your lungs if you feel overwhelmed…into a pillow or something, because we don’t want anyone calling Five-O on you for disorderly conduct. As long as you’re not causing harm to someone else, feel free to be free.
As for me, I’m trying to get into running, so I’m about to go blast “I’m Still Standing” by Elton John as I attempt to jog for longer than ten minutes without feeling like I want to cough up my lungs. Then afterwards I’m going to jump up and down and celebrate like Sylvester Stallone in Rocky, while not giving a single (care) how crazy I probably look.
