#13

I often feel really misunderstood.

It’s partially my fault if I’m really honest.

I don’t like confrontation. Whether it’s lack of energy due to chronic illness, or the millennial customer service agent in me striving to people please (shout-out to the dude that made a whole TikTok about that – it showed up on my FYP and now it’s gone forever), I’m not really sure. Maybe it’s my religious background that carried such little nuance that I feared upsetting God if I upset a person because it might “ruin my witness,” or a myriad of other possibilities that keep me stuck feeling unfulfilled in friendships, familial relationships, and even acquaintanceships (if they can ever actually be fulfilling).

There are very few places in this world where I feel permission to be me. Fully M E. I tell most people my empathy is my favorite thing about myself. And it truly is. But somewhere along the way, I began believing that leading with empathy means I can only ever be empathetic. Except I don’t feel ONLY ever empathetic. That’s a facet of me that I never want to lose. It’s the one I’d most like to highlight. But it’s not the only facet of my personality.  And I’m increasingly afraid to be all of me.

I have different versions of myself for different friends, different family members, different settings. I base the version of myself on what’s acceptable to the people around me.

I’m highly opinionated, but I bite my tongue because I don’t want to be considered bitchy or place a higher value on my opinions than my relationships.

I’m feisty and fiery, but I fear being “too much,” so I rein it in because it seems like people like me best when they think I’m the sweet, girl-next-door.

I’m chronically ill, but that makes other people uncomfortable, so I tone it down, determined not to be a victim. But then people don’t believe I’m as sick as I am. Except for the people who do believe I’m very sick and mistake sympathy for empathy. Those that speak to me in wistful tones, “If only you weren’t sick, my God, what you could accomplish,” and then hug me as if they just gave of themselves something sacrificial, but it felt so superficial.

I also love Jesus. My faith shapes my worldview. It’s as simple and complicated as that. This somehow (& blessedly) separates me from many who claim the same faith because I had to deconstruct a ton of bullshit theology to get to where I’m at. And I’m not sure whether the process of deconstruction and reconstruction will ever end. And that makes me dangerous, apparently. (Plus, the fact that I believe in dignity and equality for ALL, but I’ll get into that another time.)

I’m an extremely loving and warm human being, but there’s a (holy-ish) indignation that rises up within me at seeing other people mistreated.

I’m a wife who wants to treat my husband with dignity and respect, but not because he’s a man and certainly not to be submissive. He’s my best friend; the person I’m closest to, the one I love most in this world, and I want to treat him well, but I do expect the same in return.

I can be truly sweet, kind, and thoughtful. I can also fly off the handle, say nasty things, and give in to some absolutely delicious pettiness.

Because I’m a whole fucking person.

I’m not just one thing. I’m a lot of things. I’m not just sick, I’m also one of the most determined people you’ll ever meet. I’m not just kind, I’m opinionated as hell. I’m a straight white woman who loves her husband, but you bet your ass I’ll stand with anyone who looks different than me or loves differently from me and just wants a fighting chance.

I’m forever rooting for the underdog, because hell, I am one. And I’m beginning to think it’s my own damn fault for not being all of me all of the time. I don’t even know how to do it. It’s so ingrained in me to people-please, avoid conflict, and let others suck up all the air in the room because they want to be the center of attention, and I don’t.

But in paving the way for other people, in supporting others' needs and neglecting my own, I’ve forgotten how to be me. I’ve done all my growing internally, but kept it inside, as if to keep it safe from the criticism and rejection of others, some of whom I deeply love and others of whom I don’t even really know.

I want to be liked. I want to be appreciated. I want to be loved.

But I can’t be any of those things if I’m not seen.

I feel most grounded in my humanity when I’m creating a safe space for people, a space where they can be seen and heard and just B E.

But somewhere along the way, I forgot it’s important for me to do that for myself, too.

I invite so many people to this table I’ve created, and then I stop my whole self from showing up.

I’ve been conditioned – partially by society, partially by religion, partially by myself – to put myself last and call it good.

But it’s not good.

And maybe I don’t need to fix it today. Maybe I just need to stop dimming the light I keep offering to everyone else.