I find myself in situations where I constantly have to prove my value and my worth, where I have to stand up for myself and speak up for myself. Often times I am terrified to say, “Hey! You! Yes, you! I am awesome! I deserve better! I am valuable!” I just complain to others about my situantionship, my relationship and overall life, and I write about my feelings.
Venting in all ways and shapes and forms makes me feel better. I don’t confront the issue at hand. I unleash my feelings and bury them, pretending as if they never manifested. Like everything is just fine when it’s not. I’ve followed this very pattern for years. It’s what I know, it’s what’s comfortable. My very own cocoon. It is also suffocating. Repetitive. Stifling. Because unless I rip away the layer of insecurity, doubt and fear – and speak up and express myself to everyone and anyone no matter what the outcome – I will never ever become a butterfly.
And I really want to be a butterfly.
A butterfly is free. Layered. Colorful. From its first stage in life (horuga) it is full of potential, it is captivating. I wonder if a caterpillar knows its fate. When it’s wiggling around, eating everything in sight; when it’s in a cocoon, trapped in its own skin: does the caterpillar know it will become a magnificent butterfly?
Despite my horuga stage, somewhere deep inside I’ve always known I am amazing, unique and simply me. It has taken me a while to get here, but I can feel my wings expanding. I can see their bright colors, their dimensions. Soon enough I will take flight. I just have to release my inhibitions and stop limiting myself. I have to stop blaming everyone else for not emerging and enveloping as quickly as the butterfly.
I’m too old to blame my father. I’ve documented my daddy issues enough for all to know that, yes, I’ve been fucked with since childhood.
I’m too old to blame my mother. She’s protected and nurtured me so much that she stifled my growth and I internalized this messaging: you need people, you need help, you can’t be independent and free in every sense of the word. You are weak.
I’m too old to blame my sister, whose perfectionism is almost impossible to match. In fact, I’ve lived by my own rules and have struggled with authority due to the expectations that come with being her little sis.
All I can do is be. All I can do is open my mouth and shout, “Hey! You! Yes, you! I am awesome! I deserve better! I am valuable!” to a reflection of myself in the mirror. And believe it. Then, I’ll be a damn butterfly.