The more I try to put a magnifying glass to “who I am” and try to figure it out, the farther away I fall. The vaguer the answers get.
I know who I am. Even if that means, right now, I don’t have all the answers about myself or my motivations or my deep, dark, hidden secrets from myself.
The more I try to peg down who I am in specifics, the more I lose my ability to define my identity.
Who I am, is someone who changes.
Today, I don’t have all the answers.
I’m the chick who cried in a room full of people who understand her, and didn’t want to get the headache that might turn to a migraine because she cried. The chick who doesn’t cry out loud often. But feels safe in that room.
Today, I’m the gal who prepared a small lesson to teach tomorrow about self-reliance and tied it in with how to fold an origami heart.
I’m the person who listened to her neighbors shriek at each other and wondered if I could put them in a story and fix them.
Today, I’m Daphne. I was Daphne yesterday. I’ll be her tomorrow.
But today, I’m not the same as yesterday and I won’t be the same tomorrow.
Today I’ve struggled with depression and anxiety and come out of it with a touch of serenity in my rib cage. I’ve been honest with myself, even though it hurt, and felt better for it.
I’ve felt a touch of hope. Hope that I’ve changed. Hope that I’ll continue to grow.
I’m the one who read this post and felt an immediate connection with her words.
Who laughs a real laugh, content, even though my insides are a mess.
The same Daphne who hasn’t taken all of her Halloween decorations down yet, because hey, bats and pumpkin-skeletons are part of Fall too!
The gal who took her dog out in the freezing cold and thought of all the homeless who must be shivering in old clothes, and wished she could save the world. The same gal who realized a lot of people don’t want to be saved. Not really.
The same Daphne who grinned at herself. California isn’t freezing, not compared to other places.
To me, it’s freezing.
I am the writer who watches Scooby-Doo reruns while writing about death, rebirth, pain, suffering, hope, and a woman who fights herself to freedom.
Yesterday… I don’t want to think about yesterday. It hurts. And the hurt slides back in so easily, just at the mere mental mention of it. It pervades.
But the Daphne I am today is okay with that.
Today I have choices, I’ve decided.
Today, I can be all of me. Vulnerable. Raw.
I keep telling you this. Because I know it’s true. I feel it from the soles of my feet to the hollows behind my eyes.
I know where I’ve been, what I’ve been through, how I’ve coped, how I’ve survived. What I was thinking, what went on inside me even as I smiled and people bought, all the time, that I was doing fabulously. I know what’s brought me joy. What I’ve tried and failed to do. What mistakes I’ve made. I know how I’ve grown. What I’ve accomplished.
I know who I was yesterday. Last night. This morning. A few hours ago.
I know who I am.
Even if I don’t want to own up to it.
I am the Daphne who expels misery via the ink she types or pens, embedding it into pages.
I know who I am even if I focus on what I feel are my failings and can’t seem to find any successes until I talk to someone else who truly knows me.
Even if I hide who I am, from myself.
I know who I am. I am learning to be all of me, out loud.
Even if I don’t know a thing about my tomorrows.
Tomorrow I’ll be different. Tomorrow, I’ll be the same me.