Is your weakness really a weakness?

I shall begin by stating the obvious: I don’t like a lot about myself. To those who know me this is old news and I can already picture some of you shaking your heads, while the rest of you roll your eyes and tut in disapproval. But that's the truth and growing up, I learned to despise who I am. I thought all of the things that made me me were weaknesses: I thought I was weak. I believed I was ugly, worthless and a little bit stupid. I blame it on a childhood and school life where I was made to feel that I was too sensitive, too vulnerable and God forbid someone should call me soft hearted. I hated it. I grew up learning that I had to suppress that side of me. 

Little was I to know that these things that I suppressed and replaced with biting sarcasm and well-placed bitchy comments, would actually prove to be some of the qualities that people complimented me on most often: soft heartedness, openness and vulnerability. That sensitivity has brought me strength, the softness I choose to keep as an act of rebellion and the vulnerability? Well that still hurts sometimes, but honestly? I'd rather have that than be hardened into the shape of bullies who taught me they were "tough."

I know the beginning may have read like a sob story (sorry about that one), but what I am trying to say is that our biggest weaknesses can actually become our greatest strengths: that stubbornness? It could give you drive to stick at something until you succeed. The bluntness? Combined with a bit of tact it can earn you respect. Perfectionist? Well at work things need to be ordered and organised; you could succeed at management. 

So where have my "weaknesses" taken me? They contribute a great deal to my writing; it is honest (sometimes possibly too honest), raw and open. I write to feel less alone, so others feel less alone and without its rawness or its vulnerability, there would be no truth in it. So yes, I may sometimes show too much of myself in what I put on paper, but why should I keep quiet when I have a voice and a platform that others may not?   

Seeing Stars

I think sometimes we don't get what we deserve; some of us get more, others of us get woefully less, and a few unlucky sods get screwed over by circumstance & timing. Unfortunately, a lot of my friends and loved ones have recently fallen into the latter category. This is especially true when it comes to relationships/romance. When these don't work out the way we'd hoped or imagined it's too easy to feel worthless. Rejection is never easy to deal with and I've found it has a nasty habit of making me feel cheap, or, well really rejected!

This time? I got so close... I almost fell. At least that's what I kept telling myself. "It's ok, you didn't quite make it, you didn't go over the edge." An almost was fine; it meant nothing would break. Nothing needed to. It turns out I was wrong. Yes; my heart finds itself more or less intact, but I still find my sense of worth, and my ego in pieces by my side. I'd be nursing that injury for a while.

But my God, I wanted it to be the dreaded four letter word. I wanted it to be mutual. I had accepted quite a long time ago that the love I want wouldn't look like it does in romance novels: volatile, wild and crazy. I want the kind of love that knows peace. I want the safety of the person whose solidity reassures me, the easy conversation that feels like it never began but simply continued, the electricity which means that clothes will never be on for long in their company, and to get to know and love all the little things that make that person so uniquely themselves. I want someone who will fight for me, who will be able to reciprocate the same ferocity with which I'll battle to keep what we have. I want someone who will think of me not just in their drunken stupor but the morning after when they're nursing a hangover.

I want to be the woman they choose. Knowing that at this point I wasn't "the choice," cast a blinding light on my flaws. It didn't matter that it may not have been "my fault,"or that it was just bad timing, all I could see were the ways I was both too much and not enough. I'd curse myself for being too fast to fall, too soft on occasion, and sometimes too forgiving. I set my standards high and my walls higher. But the thing is, it's either all or nothing with me. I can't just dip a toe in and test the temperature. I have to just leap. That often happens while I am stood there denying it and desperately telling myself "almost" is where I am at. This is because almost-love is safer than saying it aloud. It allows time to get to know the person, and lets you still keep some of your walls. Almost-love means though your sense of worth or ego maybe bruised when it ends, at least your heart remains intact.

The unexpected problem with this almost-love though, is that when/if it ends before you fall off the precipice, you discover the grief of lost possibilities. A myriad of futures, some of which you hadn't even considered before, are now painfully out of reach. You know there's every likelihood of an exciting future with the "right person," but it will never be the same, because you aren't the same. People alter us; and we alter them... and together? No two daydreams will be identical. You'll tailor them to fit you, to fit the person who's stealing your heart... And so when the almost-love ends, you lose a potential version of yourself.

So for now? Aside from eating copious amounts of ice cream and consuming similarly copious amounts of alcohol... I have been burying myself in my new job, causing trouble with my dog, and getting dressed up. Surrounding ourselves with the people who love and support us helps us to heal, and whether it's love or almost-love... Next time it comes around I'll be a much me-er version of myself, and I hope I'll be ready to fall. But will I see stars or will they fall too?

The Return

I had visualised that coming back to my blog, hitting the keyboard would be far easier than it has been. So far there have been 3 drafts of this post; each and every one deleted and completely rewritten. It isn't that I don't know what to say, it's that I don't know how exactly to say it. Its entirely likely I am overthinking the entire process... After all one of the best pieces of advice I've been given is to get it all down on paper because it is easier to work with something than nothing. So here goes.

2016 finished with me defining it as a steaming pile of crap (eloquently put I know). I had been stuck in a situation where I was constantly undermined, and when I tried to speak out was merely told to "toughen up." It made me feel worthless, incompetent and useless. I was beginning most of my days by wondering what they'd find to call me out on this time, which rules they had introduced that I hadn't been adhering to. I was ending my days exhausted, convinced I was useless and incapable of the language I had spent so long learning. I stopped writing. I stopped believing I had anything useful or relevant to contribute. I told people it was the exhaustion, and to a certain degree it was. But truthfully? I felt so miserably inadequate that I felt nobody would want to hear my story anyway.

I stopped horse riding; admittedly that had been a long time before 2016, but in the past that was my refuge. The horse didn't care how good/bad ugly you felt, the instructor didn't give a shit if you'd failed your last essay. It was myself and the animal; learning to read each other and bond by instinct. For those hours I could be sweaty as hell, covered in mud, or drenched through from the rain, but it didn't matter. Because in that moment all that mattered was me and the horse. Last year? I didn't have my refuge. I didn't have the fitness or the financial stability to seek it either. I was stuck stewing in my inadequacies, and drowning in a situation that was slowly but surely turning me into a toxic, bitchy version of myself.

Shortly before Christmas, my relationship ended out of the blue. I don't think I'd been able to pinpoint a single moment so exactly before then, but I remember when I felt my heart break. I felt the truth wind me, and started to drown in the grief of knowing that I'd be the only one mourning. After all, who mourns someone who is still breathing, and loving and functioning? That is when the grief became my private loss; because while I knew she'd still be living, her happiness would no longer involve me. That is a bitter pill to swallow as anyone knows. But I still felt ridiculous mourning the loss of a person who was lost only to me.

Slowly everything has started to look up; 2017 has been an opportunity for a fresh start. I am leaving Norfolk behind and coming home to the hills of Sussex where I grew up. I am apprehensive because I don't have a "plan," and I don't know what this year will be for me. But I began by proving to myself that I am a survivor and I plan to carry on not just by showing I can survive, but flourish.