I’m Not What I Think I Am

2019 was a wet dream in comparison to 2018 and 2020. 2018 was filled with turmoil, heartbreak, and growing pains. 2019 was my flourishing from all of the wreckage. I found spirituality, I found my calling, I found sobriety, and, I thought, I found myself.

“I wasted 5 years of my life with someone who wouldn’t change, and I’m not doing it with you.” But the “you” was directed at the wrong person. The you was me.

At the end of 2019, I also found a partner. Totally unlike anyone I ever dated, I was in awe of him. Tall, dark, handsome, insightful. On paper, he was everything I’d dreamed of in a partner. Quite literally, I have a page in my journal from October of 2019 describing my ideal partner’s qualities. He matches every single one. The version of myself then paired beautifully with those qualities. Uncontrolling, free-spirited, uplifted. My cares in the world were about feeling elevated and bringing people there with me.

Then, 2020 happened.

I returned to France from India. I’d been aware of COVID-19 for months. The damaging effects of US-China relations in the soybean & corn market in November were nothing compared to what it did to my personal relationships in March. I suppose I’m with the rest of the world when I say that.

In March, My father, an alcoholic, was quarantined, diagnosed with aggressive Stage IV cancer, tested positive for COVID, and with that, my hard-earned boundaries and lessons of emotional protection crumbled. Sober, I had no way to numb the pain, only to feel it. Each day I woke up my heart about to explode and my insides spinning like a tornado.

That tornado went right through the mindset I’d worked so hard to create.

Each day I received a new blow. If there wasn’t chaos from my father, there were explosions from my mother or lawsuit threats from my aunts. Pure pandemonium flying about and, perhaps obviously, I forgot how to protect myself.

Having chosen to fall into the twister and now choosing to step out, I am grateful for both.

I continued with my emotional instability. Latching on to my temporary status in France as a way to claim victimhood when my partner exhibited behaviors I found to be inconsiderate or, worse, patriarchal. I championed these terms, using them as ways to defend myself. From what?

It seems old habits die hard.

My defensiveness is not a new trait. My awareness of its existence is. Last night, after over a week of arguing and my defending myself, I suddenly stopped. That stopping was what I learned in 2019. When we stop, we can hear. And boy did I ever.

“You don’t listen to me.” “You don’t respect my opinion.” “I’m afraid to come to you with my thoughts.” My partner, also exhausted from the marathon of arguing, voiced his pains in our impromptu confession session on the floor of my apartment. My chest tightened. My mind spun, but I didn’t respond. I just listened. I’d been saying on repeat, “I wasted 5 years of my life with someone who wouldn’t change, and I’m not doing it with you.” But the “you” was directed at the wrong person. The you was me.

In our most challenging moments, we have the opportunity to show our true colors.

Despite all the progress I’ve made, it seems I still have so much more work to do. A lesson I learned in 2019 was that I cannot berate myself over my errors, only forgive myself and opt to choose again.

You don’t just wake up one day and become a master. It takes time. Effort. Dedication.

Choosing again and living in the present moment have changed my life.

With each moment that passes, we can choose again. That’s not to say that some choices are right and some are wrong. They are just choices. Whether those choices illicit the results that we want are determined by us. Had I not fallen into the depths of the emotional twister of 2020, I would not have known that I am not entirely the person I want to be. Having chosen to fall into the twister and now choosing to step out, I am grateful for both.

How could I become the person I want to be if I haven’t fully accepted the person I am now?

The person I am now is growing and learning. You don’t just wake up one day and become a master. It takes time. Effort. Dedication. All of which I have. Though it pains my ego, I know that learning means making mistakes. Growing requires pains. Yet, I am comforted knowing that with each moment that passes, I get to choose. And for the moments I remember to make decisions with that best version of myself in mind, I am that much closer to becoming her.

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Previously published on medium

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