#be authentically you

When the diagnosis was confirmed, the relief I felt was immediate. Finally an answer after all the questions I had been asking myself since I had had my first conscious thought. When the relief left me, anger took its place—what other emotion could I conjure when I heard the echoes of my loved ones telling me to just try a little harder, be a little better, give a little more. I was always trying harder. I was always one piece of straw away from breaking my back on the box they wanted to put me in. They weren’t allowed to be sorry. I didn’t want to let it go. I knew in my heart that I would forgive them, but my anger remained.

Somewhere though, a drop of grief bubbled up through the anger. Small at first, a gentle pop, just a whisper. That whisper soon became the small voice that had asked and begged and pleaded for help, clear as a bell. The echoes faded into the background as I shifted attention to her. Familiar, the quiet voice of the small girl rang. The unheard song of a girl who cried every time she couldn’t string the words together to express her feelings. The sensitive one, who felt too deeply, loved too carelessly and needed too much. The girl who tried to wear her traumas like a mask, an armor, to keep her safe. She was me, quiet and sensitive and unheard. 

I mourned the person she would have been if there were words to tell her story, to sing her song. It was a deep loss, seeing fleeting images of the person I might have been with the tools to help me through the worst challenges. Someone free of the torment of being trapped inside her head, someone with self-love and confidence. I mourned her. I took off my mask and so did she. The grief was so loud, an echoing cacophony, and so consuming that I hadn’t even realized that she was just my reflection. She was me.   

She said ‘thank you’, and I felt it like a vibration in every one of my bones. The echoes were scattered to the wind. Every hurt, every struggle, every tear shed broke free in one moment like some great steam vent screaming triumphantly toward the sky. I was allowed to say it wasn’t easy. I was forgiven for my shortcomings and allowed to finally see myself without donning the mask or the armor. The reflection was me and I was her and we were battle-worn and ready to recover. Now, I have to tell her story. My story. 

I didn’t expect grief, but I did learn from it.

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**Self-diagnosis is valid.**

I know there are people who see this and do not understand or care to understand who I am and what i believe but i have never felt this truth more than this...

Growing up some of my family were Christian, which i remember going to church on occasions and I have never felt more out of place.. I tried, i prayed to god and i said my prayers before bed. But something didn’t resonate with me. I felt lost in a place where everyone around me felt at home.

Wondering to yourself if you’re on th right path, doing the right things, being with the right person. You allow your mind to take you to those places where your soul can’t dance and your heart won’t sing. That assumption you’ve made has consumed you. That scenario you’ve replayed a dozen times is a broken record. How long do you sit in the dark? How long do you dwell on being not good enough? How long do you dwell on people you can’t change or situations you wish would be different.