I stepped on a rock when I was little girl. Well, more of a pebble, I guess. I remember where it happened…in front of our condo at 5535 Allemong Drive when I was probably six years old on a summer day, back in the days when you could run around barefoot all the time. The pebble cut through the skin and healed up all weird. Like, I can’t see the scar anymore but can feel it on the bottom of my foot, where it went in. But here’s the thing…I told everyone (and I mean everyone…my mailman probably knew this story) that the rock went into my foot and stayed there. And I told that story that way over and over, to the extent that thirty-five years later and I honestly have no idea if there’s a rock inside my foot or not.
In the same way, I think I’ve been letting other people tell me what my story is for so long, that I’ve just accepted it and enfolded it and moved on and retold it that way.
Every time I have been called a name, or criticized, or insulted, or punished just for being me – from little girl until now – has been like a pebble that I stepped on. And I have let all of it – each statement, each harsh word, each eye roll coupled with a sigh, each accusing email – work itself into my being and inform me of who I am.
But it’s time that I take back my story. It’s time that I look at the lies I’ve been believing about myself. Things that I’ve heard from others like you’re not as strong as I thought you were (or worse, you’re not as strong as so-and-so) or lying moron. And things I’ve whispered to myself like emotional cripple, needier than the next girl, unworthy of love.
These things simply are not true.
Am I mess? Well, yes. But we all are.
Am I needy? Yep. But we all are.
But am I crazy? Am I an idiot? Am I weak? No, no and no.
What lies have you been telling yourself, have others been telling you, that you have taken on as your own and need to lay down once and for all?