Someone I admire greatly, who says it how it is, who appears "don't mess with me tough", yet can be precariously fragile asked the tough question today. Who am I?
Here is Eden's answer.
Here is mine.
Who I am really depends on the day.
Some days I'm a happy, contented and loving life. Other days I'm not.
Some days I cower away inside my house, insecure, unworthy, full of self loathing and wondering just what it is I have to offer. Other days I know exactly what I have to offer.
Some days my heart is singing with joy and filled with love and I feel ten feet tall. Other days I'm very short.
Some days I have no voice, I have nothing to offer, nothing to contribute. Other days I just can't stop talking.
Some days I am happy to be anonymous, quietly pottering away in my home, keeping to myself. Other days I want to be the centre of attention.
Reading back over what I just wrote it occurred to me that we are all like this. We aren't the same every single day. There are so many variables that will influence the state of mind in which we will spend our day.
So is this really who I am? Is my state of mind the barometer of who I am or does it go deeper than this?
Damn you Eden Riley. You are making me go deeper. To that dark place where the "real" me hides out eating cake and drinking hot chocolates when she knows she should be exercising.
There is a saying ... "when the student is ready, the teacher will come". Today I feel like Eden is my teacher and I am the student.
Stripping back all the white noise and stuff, this is what I find.
I am me. I am female. I am almost 49. I am a wife. I am a mother. I am a daughter. I am a friend. I am a sister. I am flawed. I am deeply compassionate, my empathy knows no bounds. I am generous. Paradoxically, despite my compassion and empathy I am not always able to show love. I am complicated. I can seem cold, aloof. I am not. I feel things deeply, so deeply that they physically affect me. To survive I've also learned to pack my feelings into little boxes so they can't hurt me.
I've been struggling with some major issues going on in our life. They are currently nearing the end and almost resolved. The journey through this process has been emotionally tiring. I've had to put a lot of my feelings away in boxes. Like I've moved house and not yet unpacked. Every now and then the boxes split open and the contents burst out all over the floor, but I've been able to tape the boxes shut.
During this process I've been unable to write a lot. When my feelings are boxed away I become that cold, aloof person who can be quite self absorbed. I run out of energy to give to others and I don't really like who I am during these times. I find it ironic that in order to survive I have to be the person I least like to ensure the person I believe I truly am makes it through. Safely and in tact.
Human beings are complicated. Because of this we all should be much kinder to each other. At any given time nobody really knows what another human being is trying to keep boxed up. Instead of trying to rip the tape and make their boxes spill out all over the floor, why don't we spend more time lending our packing tape to them?
So to answer Eden's question. I do believe I am a room full of packing boxes. Who would have thought?