3rd Thing: Perspective

Why did I let you convince me I was doing badly?

You droned on and on, making my head hurt. I believed everything that happened in the last two months, I handled well. Flexing my resilience, persevering through the unknown, I was feeling great! I wasn't feeling melancholic mania, or the false sense of my hormone imbalanced ego. I wasn't feeling brash, or arrogant after having my arse kicked this past year. After all the difficult conversations, and wading through the mud, my metaphorical muscles ached, my skin dry and callous from the psychological onslaught of challenges. But it felt good. I had weathered the storm and here is the proof. It's written on me, brandished like the scars on the back of slaves lashed mercilessly. Stained from the dry blood leaking from my wounds. Knees, red raw and almost bleeding from scrubbing the uneven, jagged concrete floor. I can smell the iron in my blood, I can taste the strength. My face lined with salt trails down my cheeks from evaporated tears, skin taught and tight , stretched and stiff, thirsty for moisture. Eyes slightly bloodshot, headache raging, tired but getting up every morning. I found the capacity to love when it hurt. Hugging you so tight sometimes I worried I suffocated you.

It still felt good.

It feels like listening to Life in Technicolour. The gradual fade in tickles the hair on my arms and deep inside my ears. Imagine the relief when you take of your shoes after a long day, fall asleep on the settee with your favourite floral quilted throw. It felt like kisses on my neck, the tingling sore aftermath of a freshly inked tattoo, that healing bruise or hitting your funny bone. It vibrated inside me positively. I wanted all of you so badly, I needed you to breathe. I wanted to die trying, at times I was so unhappy, I thought that I would die trying. I kept paying for you, when you promised to pay me back. I held on when you let go. I squeezed until my arms and shoulders fatigued, quit and walked out on me. But I did it. I kept rolling, even when I wanted to quit. I kept singing, when you told me to stop. I walked alone when you told me I'd be better to follow. I told my truth and stood naked in front you. You could view me from any compromising, vulnerable angle. I hung proudly, covering none of my imperfections. I highlighted a few of my flaws favourably, for the first time not caring about your opinion, but seeing a glimpse of my own brilliance. I closed my eyes, softened my posture, exhaled a sigh and smiled slightly. I could feel you staring at me, but it felt warm like the sun on my face. I unapologetically, stood in front you, not ashamed, not even scared of your critique. I was myself. I picked my skin off the hanger and tried it on. Every inch filled, sculptured the way it should be.

I pleased me, not you.

I understood what you meant to me. How you made me afraid of things I always had the courage, strength and skill to navigate. I saw, felt, and was bashfully relieved when I found out the majority of people are on my side. The outcry was genuine, warm and enveloping. Completely spontaneous, it caught me and tapped me right on the heart. I used this to keep going, strive to be better, fight off complacency, dare to be silly for a moment in order to be wise in the future. I have yet to master you. I know some days you will conquer me. My insecurities will cage me, rendering me weak, powerless and at your mercy. But those days will be fewer and far between. If you have taught me anything at all, it's that being me, is the best and only thing I can be. Being me, is loved, appreciated, celebrated and encouraged to do great things.

Whether you want me to or not, the leap of faith only comes from me. Never from you.