This is not a new year’s resolution,
This is not about what I want to do, or accomplish or reach. I’m not planning on losing any weight, quit smoking, or eat less pizza. If anything, I’m planning on eating more. This is not about the material things I want to posses, the money I want to make or the way I want to look by next Christmas.
I want to write again. I want to be a better friend. I want to get through school. I want to be inspired. Inspire. I want to take better care of myself.
The only thing I want this coming year is truly learn how to love myself. This will take time. It will be hard. But it is necessary. Because the things I want now, are things that I gave up on all on my own. Because I felt like I wasn’t worth any of them.
I stopped writing because I had somehow convinced myself my voice would never matter. I became world’s worst friend the moment I shut them out when I was hurting. Instead of reaching out I stopped answering their worried messages, until they too fell silent. I still don’t understand why I did that. It was a good decision to drop out of college in 2008. Not going back when I got the chance, was not.
All these things slowly fell away, one by one, in the past few years. I let that happen.
But I’m going to fight to get it all back. Because without these things, I’m miserable. I’m not such a loner as I thought I was growing up. I was hurt, scared, young and lonely. These were not choices, but they were the only things I felt for five years. Five years is long enough to get used to something. And we humans, flawed as we are, like the things we are used to because they are safe. We know what to expect and that makes us feel comfortable. Even if those things are bad for you.
My safe haven has mines and the only way to dismantle them is to give myself back all the pieces I thought I didn’t deserve. What I don’t deserve is this. I can make my own choices now. I can give myself the things that were neglected when life became a war at home. I got away from that life. Yet, years later, I find myself abusing myself by taking away the things that once made me happy. Much like my mother used to, even if she wasn’t always aware that she did.
No, not every wound has healed and most things still hurt too much to think about. Of course I’m scared, I’m on the verge of turning 23, struggling to pay rent and college (because I did go back this year!) and no idea what I’ll do after college. Who isn’t scared of becoming an adult? But the only reason I’m lonely is because I choose to shut my friends out. And when someone won’t let you in, eventually you stop knocking. [Ransom Riggs] I can’t blame them. And I’m not blaming myself either. Because I want to take better care of myself. I need to take better care of myself. Learn to love myself, flaws and mistakes and all. And I’m starting with forgiving myself for not being perfect.
This is not a new year’s resolution. This is me waking up.
And if you’re still reading this, you beautifully flawed reader, thank you. Maybe, if you recognized something, this will remind you that it’s perfectly okay. No matter what you’re dealing with, don’t be too hard on yourself. We all make mistakes. No one is perfect. And that’s okay, I promise.
