Saying Goodbye To A Stranger
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Listen To: “Carry On” by Fun; “Pompeii” by Bastille; “Clean” by Taylor Swift; and “Here Comes The Sun” by The Beatles.
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It’s weird how a lot of deep conversations and thoughts of mine happen during car rides. A few weekends ago, I was on my way to a brewery with close friends. We were darting and dodging through Seattle traffic making our way around Cap Hill when one of them asked me, “Does your last relationship feel like forever ago?”
I journeyed back to that period and thought, “Shit. That was almost a year ago.”
When I finally replied, I basically verbatim barfed out my thoughts, “Can you believe that was almost a year ago?”
They replied, “It was?!”
I continued, “Yeah, but the thing that’s weird to me, is that I don’t think about him when I think about that time. I think about myself. I think about who I was, and that’s what feels like forever ago. I can’t even recognize myself. It’s like I was a stranger in my own life.”
I knew I had thought it for awhile, but when I finally said it out loud, it was haunting.
When I look back, it almost felt like I was drifting along in a fog. I was there. I remember being there, but I felt like my soul was missing. It’s unsettling. Physically, I compare it to that feeling you get in the pit of your stomach when you’re walking through a haunted house. You know at any point something will jump out of nowhere, scaring the life out of you, but you keep going. You put yourself in harms way intentionally. What’s the word for that?
Yesterday was the year “anniversary” of a pivotal moment that changed the course of my life.
My Mom always told me that sometimes you just need a good cry. And in all honesty, that’s what I did last night. I cried about it. I cried in remembrance. I cried because I felt haunted. I cried with frustration for allowing myself to feel like a stranger in my own life. However, I mostly cried because I was happy. Because I was able to get a place where I recognized myself. That milestone made me feel accomplished, but it’s odd that tears were my reaction, right?
This past year was an uncomfortable one. I pushed myself a lot, but the great news is that I survived. I can honestly say, this was the first time in my life I was my own hero. Not because I was the product of anyone else. It was all by my own doing.
I mean, I haven’t fully arrived yet. I’m assuming all of this will happen when I’m in my 60s, retired, and YOLO-ing out. But, last night, I proudly thought, “Look at little old me, doing my thang.”
I guess I didn’t come to this awareness on my own. Many friends, family, and co-workers stepped up this year and supported me on my journey. So, I should credit some of my best friends for verbally helping me come to this realization.
Coincidentally, in another car ride, I asked my friend, Darice, if I seemed different. She said, “Yeah, but good different. You seem more confident. Much more like yourself.”
My friend, Charlotte, told me during a quick visit to Minnesota, “This is the most grounded you’ve ever been.”
Kristen said during a Gopher-Badger game, “Barf (her boyfriend’s loving nickname) and I are proud of you. This is the best we’ve seen you.”
And then last night, Darcy told me, “I feel like you’re killing it. You’re rocking your life and your career.”
And it was all because of me. I had blossomed. I had got my “muchness” back.
So, I asked myself: how did I get here? How was I able to recognize myself again?
My conclusion? I put value back in my self-worth. I respected my happiness. I didn’t make self-destructive decisions. I rationalized. I didn’t compartmentalize my thoughts. I began to love myself.
Over this past year, I spent much time acknowledging and processing things that happened to me. I allowed myself to feel exactly what I was feeling the moment I was feeling it. If a lump came up in my throat, instead of suppressing it, I let myself cry. If something bothered me, I spoke up about it. If I was happy, I laughed. If I was annoyed, I asked God to grant me patience. It was cathartic. I spent a lot of time thinking back to yesterday’s year “anniversary” and the strangeness of that period in my life.
I’ve gone through a progression of feelings about it: utter heartbreak, gut-wrenching sadness, numbness, anger, acceptance, forgiveness, happiness, and my favorite feeling of them all: being clean. Clean of who I used to be.
In this time, I recognized that everything in life is a choice.
Most importantly, I realized I can’t control anyone else but myself. And there was so much power in that. The moment I realized that everything I thought, said, did, didn’t do, binged on Netflix, was ultimately up to me. It was completely revolutionary. No one else had control over me, but myself. Isn’t that kind of amazing?
And I urgently say this to you — if you realize someone does have power or control over you, take it back. Because you can do that. There’s nothing in this world saying you can’t be the boss of yourself. In fact, so many things say you can and should do that!
I even remember the exact moment when I did this myself — took back control. I remember where I was sitting. I remember what I was wearing. I remember the way the sunlight hit my apartment floor. I remember what I was going to make for dinner that night. It was the day I looked him in the eyes and said he was right. I deserved better.
And with those few, honest, but simple words, my life changed. Screw that damsel in distress shit. I was my own knight-in-shining-armor.
By saying those words, I no longer had to question or feel bad for being happy, having an honest feeling, sharing my opinion, loving my family, hanging out with my friends, what I chose to wear, how I wore my eyeliner. It no longer mattered. I was back to my badass, sassy self. I didn’t need to be validated by another individual.
I wasn’t who I was because they decided I should be that way. Honestly, that version of me sucked. I mean, it wasn’t even….me. But from that point on, I knew it was all up to me. My validation of myself was the most important.
I’m worthy because I think I am, not because of someone else deciding when, why, and how I am worthy.
Because I know I am enough.
So with writing that, I feel like I’ve capped off this process. But, I mostly want to write my final farewell and say goodbye to that stranger. That hollow, sad, shell of a person I used to be. Because I’m choosing to be sarcastic, witty, honest, self-deprecating, kind, fiercely loyal (almost to a fault), a good friend, a better sister, a more appreciative daughter, a kickass co-worker, more loving and thoughtful, and hopefully more eloquent.
I am deciding to move on to being more than enough.
