In Answer To The Question: Who Do You Think You Are?

Correction: “Who do you know you are?”

I’m a Jermusyk. I’m a Catholic. I’m Polish-Italian on my father’s side, and Irish-Scottish-Welsh-French-German-Russian-Swedish-Swiss-Native American on my mother’s side (last time I checked).

I’m Rosie to close friends and family. Mostly Rose. Rarely Rosemarie.

I’m a legit af morning person. I’m a ray of f*cking sunshine. I’m a fairy godmother.

I’m a singer-storyteller. I’m a goose that lays golden eggs. I’m a trekkie-sonneteer.

I’m the kid perpetually asked “Why can’t you do what ‘everyone else’ manages to do the way that ‘everyone else’ manages to do it?” even as the people asking the question turn around and say “Rosie dances to the beat of her own drum.”

I’m the kid who spent 20+ years looking for a scientifically sound answer to that dumb f*cking question and found it.

I’m the one who spent 20+years not knowing they had OCD and waged daily f*cking battles against their own brain trying not to dance to the beat of their own drum.

I’m the one who found the answers — those scientifically sound and those spiritually resounding — that have allowed to me to accomplish anything over the years by being more me.

I’m the one writing their own rules — literally, online and on actual paper — to anchor their resolve in the face of a mental health condition that makes personal integrity (and hygiene) difficult.

I’m the one still doing the work and showing the work as I go so that the “teachers” can see how I reach every answer.

I’m the one who’ll have this blogpost queued up on their phone and ready to go anytime someone asks “Who do you think you are?” or “Who are to say or do [insert thing I am doing]?” or “What makes you think you can [insert thing I have already decided to do]?” or any question in which someone is projecting onto me their own self-doubt.


Originally published at Better Storytelling.