The Someone That I Used To Know
I used to be the girl who loved to make an entrance. I relished the opportunity to walk into any situation and have all eyes fall on me; cocktail hour, work, an event where I stood up to give a speech, even a downtown club in the wee hours of the night, it didn’t matter. I wanted my moment. It probably sounds bad, but I don’t think it is. Every girl deserves those moments if she wants them.
She deserves to feel smart, special and beautiful.
Because I happen to think every woman is smart, special and beautiful in her own way. She needs to see what’s wonderful about her, and the world needs to see it, too.
There were bumps in my road. I had people in my life who tore me apart in my awkward childhood years; people who were supposed to love me and build me up. I suppose they would have done so in a perfect world, if they didn’t feel so awful about themselves, but instead of looking inward they chose to pick on an impressionable, fragile kid. I didn’t overcome the calculated cruelty of those words until I was well into my twenties. The love of my mom helped, the encouragement of a few boyfriends did, too.
But ultimately I had to realize it on my own, for any of it to really matter.
And while I did gradually fall in love with what I was on the outside, the newly discovered appreciation for myself had everything to do with what I valued about my inside. The sincerity of my heart, and the power of my mind.
After so many years of working hard and finally getting to a place where I could love myself, illness consumed my life. It felt like one step forward and a dozen steps back. That confident, attention seeking and self-assured woman slowly became someone I would leave behind, someone that I used to know.
I would have to start all over again.
I’m almost there. It is far from the way it used to be. I think I have long forgotten how to make an entrance. I avoid situations and would rather not have every eye in the room on me. But still, it doesn’t feel as difficult as it did the first time around. I think age, wisdom and the ability to let some things go have made all the difference. And there’s one more thing. Illness has changed my outside considerably. But it can’t touch my inside. My heart is still sincere, being sick hasn’t changed that. The same goes for the power of my mind. If anything, illness has made them more integral to who I am.
They far outweigh the outside.
Maybe when I’m in love with my outside again I will remember how to enter a room and own every situation. I’ll be patient with myself. It will come.
Someday I will be that woman again.
The someone that I used to know.