I am a flawed and complicated creature, and for much of my life this used to be a terrible thing. Many years I chased the wrong people, thinking I could heal them and it would somehow heal the broken parts of me to do so. My identity was waitress, assistant, clerk, weirdo, sex object, friend, lover, girlfriend …. rarely ever titles that couldn’t be taken away at a moment’s notice. Life was a battle field, and casualties were inevitable. No matter how many times I sacrificed all of me for someone else, it was never enough. I stared demons in the face and taunted them to do their worst. And so I learned to make myself enough for me.
There are still some pieces that are hard to expose … some parts that are hard to pry open without feeling awkward about how vulnerable it feels.
I am a flawed a complicated creature, and all the best people are.