Just be yourself...

Everyone always says, "just be yourself," but what goes unsaid is that they really mean, "just be yourself until.." Just be yourself until somebody is uncomfortable. Until somebody doesn't approve. Until somebody is offended. Or until somebody just doesn't like it. Especially if you're a woman. Don't be too loud. Don't be too opinionated. Don't be too confrontational. Don't be too messy. Don't be too outgoing or ambitious. Don't be too emotional. Don't think.

I spent the worst years of my life making myself smaller, breaking in silence, trying to make sure everyone else was comfortable. I spent so many years trying to make sure everyone else was dealing with my trauma, that I never stopped to consider how I was handling it. I conditioned my mind and body to mask so completely that I no longer trust my own answer to, "how are you feeling." I genuinely don't know. I don't register that I'm in pain until my stomach begins to turn and my jaw aches from clenching my teeth. I don't realize my depression is in a spiral until I can't get out of bed. I just really don't know these days. Being open about these things has such a stigma that I didn't realize I was "allowed" to feel them openly. I spent years balancing how to look decent at my doctor's appointments, but not so decent that I didn't look sick, and how to look sick, but not so sick they thought I was "exaggerating" that the idea of just looking exactly how I feel is a foreign concept. I spent so long avoiding going out when I was having a good day to avoid the whispers of "she must not be that sick if she's out of the house," or even worse, "why does she feel well enough to go shopping, but not come to church" *que intense judgement* that now going out for the afternoon when I think I can manage almost feels "wrong." It really upsets me that society has conditioned those of us who suffer to believe that if we don't suffer how everyone else deems is appropriate, then we must not be suffering. That if your life isn't black and white, either all bad or all good, then it must be neither. We waste so many years trying to figure out how to make our lives match this imaginary blueprint that we lose ourselves, and nothing is more tragic to me. 

Which is a big part of why I've been doing so much thinking lately about how I want to quit masking all the time, how I want this comeback to be out loud because of how much I, and many others, have suffered in silence. But, I'm starting to realize that I don't even know what that looks like. I don't know who I even am at this point. 

As a kid I learned the very useful, but probably ultimately very damaging skill, of being able to instantly read a room and blend in. Once my depression started to get worse I used that skill to hide it, and it became even more useful after I got sick. It was easier to hide the pain and conform to the "me" everyone wanted to see than to admit that no matter how hard I tried, life didn't seem worth it. It was easier to hide than to show just how bad the struggle against my own body was from day to day. I told myself it was for everybody else. That pretending made my parents lives easier. Looking back, that's not true. I did it because it made my life easier. The mask allowed me to stay numb. The mask allowed me to separate myself from the war raging inside my body. It was a barrier to protect my mind from my body and vice-versa. In some ways I'm grateful for that. I'm not sure I would have survived without it. But on the flip side, I'm now having to rewire so much of my thinking. Some days it feels like starting over completely. 

I want this healing journey to be "unmasked," but what do I do when I look in the mirror and can't tell if I've really taken it off or not? What do I do when it's been so long since I've seen myself, really seen who I am, that I don't recognize... anything? The constant questioning of, is this me or have I just created another layer? How deep do I have to dig to find who I was before the trauma? Some days I think I've found her, other days I'm hopelessly digging in the mud wondering if there's anything left to find. How much of her did I sacrifice to survive? And how will I ever repay that debt? The shattered dreams, the sleepless nights, the lost relationships, the smiles I never let reach my eyes. How can I claw my way back to make it worth it? How can I turn all these broken pieces into something worthy of spark I once had?