On Deciding Who I Should Become

And I guess really what I’m trying to say is, for the first time in my entire life I am realizing I have sole agency over my body, I can decide to do or to be whoever I want, I can demand what I need and stop trying to force myself into a mold that was not made by me. 

I am waking up to how limiting, how disbelieving, I have been towards myself. How I have walked through this life with my shoulders turned inward and let the opinions of everyone else blow me from side to side with no weight in my own conviction. I am understanding art is only as valuable as the catharsis of its production, in the feelings attached to its birth. That the only value is that in which I see it in. That the value of my life can only be set inwardly, by my own beliefs. That external criticism is a reflection of another’s experiences, not a rewriting of my own narrative. That each time I find myself lost in this life and decide once again to drudge through the valley, the forest, the storm, it is always the same island that awaits on the other side. The side where I believe in my own abilities, in my freedom to choose what I want to do, who I want to be. 

I spend so much time rationalizing the logical choice, the secure path, the traditional way, against my own needs. I am so terrified of risk taking that I bend my elbow to resemble my nose and my toes to look like my ribs and act as if everything is just right. The unknown, the fear, the requirement that I believe in my own ability, are all costs I am hesitant to pay. I am recognizing that the confidence self-belief demands lies outside the confines of an ability to complete a single action, and is instead a belief rooted in my worth in every situation, regardless of the presented challenge. It is saying to myself, without knowing what the it is, I trust I can do it. A knowing that recognizes when I talk about paths and my future and my choices, I do feel pulled towards a general direction, but I have no idea what lies past the first step or what it looks like or what it fully entails. I have no idea what I am saying I need. I only recognize the immediate action required. There is no plan other than trusting myself.

It’s understandable I suffer from decision paralysis when each answer feels like I’m walking across the ocean to a new world and burning the bridge behind me. Without perspective, without trust in myself to be able to change my mind, without trust that I will be able to recognize in live time how to continue walking in the direction that best serves me, it all feels really overwhelming. In reality, with each small decision, I am simply adding another piece of wood to the bridge that I have chosen to build. I am choosing to create my own course instead of taking the well established paths that have been offered to me. And each time I try to force myself into a role I am not meant for, a role that seems safer, easier, I walk across the bridge, sometimes the whole way (nursing), sometimes three quarters of the way (Montana), and then end up having to trace my steps back to the beginning, a different version than I once was, yes, but having to start anew, again. Building my bridge in this manner is grueling. I am walking fifteen miles in a circle from point A to point A.

I say I want to be a writer, but I don’t really believe that I can be. Or what that even means to me. Or how to use my work to pay my bills because as much as I might not “align” with wanting to produce with money as an incentive, the fact of the matter is it’s a necessary part of our society. And if my options lie between sacrificing time and energy to a different job to maintain the purity of my writing and to go with the safe option, which in turn steals the fuel and closes the door halfway on this channel I have opened within myself, or find a way to incorporate my creativity into a career that I love even if it is a much riskier option, I choose the latter. Because right now I am in this exhausting cycle where I say, well I enjoy writing about emotions so maybe I’ll get my masters in psychology. I love learning about people, seeing their perspective, and teaching them mine. I love sharing with people what I have learned through my experiences, maybe I want to be a teacher. The list will never end, the paths considered will never cease to diverge until I finally just jump head first into what I actually want to be doing. What I know I need to be doing. The choice that is lit under an arch of golden fire, that has butterflies singing lullabies, and mermaids doing backflips, and a sign in neon colors that says “what is meant for you” with three large arrows pointing to the red carpet below. The problem is, the distance that lies between this arch and my current position feels like black tar in quicksand and gators with razor teeth. It looks scary and uncertain and for a girl who is still trying very hard to learn to love herself, who two months ago didn’t even like herself, I don’t know if I have it in me. 

I have these spurts of energy, of the yearning, of the pull to go where I am needed. It is all encompassing, it is electric, it feels so sure, and I am so sure of myself. That I am capable, that the spout will never run dry, that I can experiment without attachment and do what I love for a living, that I will learn the balance. These periods will last for varying lengths of time, hours, days, a week, but never longer.  Inevitably, the weight of “logic” begins to seep through. A bolder dropped on a feather, an ant versus a rhinoceros, a lollipop ripped directly the little girl’s mouth, and the tantrum that follows all at once. The feelings that ensue are extremely tantrum like. An influx of emotions, confusing, hard to place, anger rooted in sadness, shame rooted in insecurity, disbelief rooted in invalidation of oneself. I forget completely of my ability to decide, that I am the sole entertainer in this show. This is the friction, the stickiness, the suffocation, the inability to sit still, the inability to write, or more accurately the aversion to writing, the invalidating of one’s own emotions because sometimes during healing any sort of heavy emotion can feel like a failure. And so adds the layers and layers pushing me back to the side where other’s opinions reign. Where resignation to the shoulds waits for me with open arms. 

Until I build up my strength, and begin to cling tightly to my own convictions, finding my way through the forest to the familiar island once again.