“You seem more unsure of yourself than ever,” my mom said 16 hours after I arrived home. “The most unlike yourself that I’ve ever seen.”
“Who I am is fluid. I get to change it anytime I want.”
So we sat in silence, considering the truth of that statement. My mom has been heartbroken since last May, when life as we’ve known it kind of fell in shambles. We used to talk everyday on my way home from work but I can count how many times I’ve called her in the last 7 months on two hands. If there’s anything that makes you feel more lonely than not talking to your mom, I don’t know what it would be. My stepmom (who has now been apart of my life longer than she wasn’t) texts me probably once a month because she’s worried about me- and sometimes she should be.
I have not been quiet or subtle about how hard holidays are for me. They’ve always caused a bit of anxiety, and of course, this year has been especially hard. “I’m proud of you for going home for Christmas. That’s awesome, jer,” My ex texted me. Holidays are hard for him too, so I feel guilty that at a time like this for him, he’s being proud of me for doing the hard things.
When I was 17, I dated a 25 year old. I don’t talk about it much because it sounds more gross than it actually was. Anyways, in one of our last conversations he told me how hard dating was for him post break up because of who I am, how differently I see things, and treat people. It was October of 2012 and what I said to him still resonates with me today: “I’m sorry for who I am and how it affects you.” He was far more ‘grown up’ than me and now sometimes, I get angry that he allowed me to say that and feel that way. But I learned that not only my feelings matter in any relationship.
I’ve thought about that a lot but this year. But I’m really not sorry anymore. I’m just hyper-aware that sometimes, growing into yourself will break hearts.
“I miss him being here, sitting next me at Christmas. But I don’t miss him as my husband. I’m sad that you all miss him too and that it’s my fault,” I said to my grandma over hot tea this morning. She asked if I was happy, and it took me a minute but I replied, “I’m not sad.”
The next time love comes my way, I’ll treat it more sweetly.
Nobody knows exactly why I got divorced and I have no one to blame for that except myself. I offer a different answer every time I’m asked. People assume that I cheated, and that’s okay because I never correct them. It doesn’t really bother me. Believing that I betrayed the trust of someone who loved me so selflessly is better than having to admit ten thousand times that I looked at my young, excitable, sweet husband on our honeymoon and thought, “ I finally did something right.”
Who I am is fluid and I am excited by this concept. Yesterday I was excited and hilarious and wanted to talk to everyone; Today I’m quiet and considerate and nostalgic. But I’m not sorry for who I am, even if it makes my family sad. I say fuck, a lot. And I spend every last penny to my name buying things for people I love. I want to kiss my friends on the cheek and I hate being ignored. How I affect people is a beautifully fragile thing, and while I hope that I leave people feeling a little warmer than before, it’s not my job to carry the responsibility of their feelings about me. I get to just be.
I may not know exactly who I am, but I’m comfortable in my own skin.
