Who am I?


It’s taken me 46 years to begin the process of getting to know “me”.  Sad right?  I remember the “ah-ha” moment.  I was sitting in my first Therapy Appt.  (more on that later),  He asked me “tell me who you are”.  “who am I?   eeeesh… ok well, ( insert blah blah blah and yada yada ) I think that sums it up”….   He looked back at me blankly…  “You’ve expressed how you hope others view you, and all wonderful aspirations.  But I’d like to hear who YOU feel you are”.  I sat confused.  Its not too often I’m lost for words, but I had nothing.  I couldn’t express a single attribute about myself.  I’m still convinced there was a cricket in the room at that very moment.  I did what I’ve always done when attempting to ensure OTHER PEOPLE didn’t feel uncomfortable, a smile followed by minimizing how something made me feel.  “PASS”…  where the hell was the “pass” button.  He sat back in his chair, placed his pen down gently, crossed his legs and said nothing.   THERE IT WAS – the dreaded spotlight shining on me  – there was no where to hide.  I felt my body go limp, emotion was building faster than I could suppress it – the shell didn’t just crack, it disintegrated around me.  No security blanket, just completely exposed.  The lip began to quiver, despite all efforts, my eyes began to leak.. dammit…. he broke me.  “I… don’t know.  I don’t know who I am”.

This moment was paramount.  There were no more broken pieces to glue back together again.  I sat in my vehicle following and cried the hardest I’ve ever cried.  Not the pretty kind of cry.  This was the swollen, red faced, nose like a tap, loud, ugly kind of sob.  It was indeed, like the perfect storm.  Hard, powerful and unharnessed.  And then as fast as it came on, it was over and the sun came out.  It was then that I put all the heavy “bags” down.  It was that exact moment I knew I’d never be the same again, and I didn’t want to be, and I shouldn’t be.  I was me – and I AM enough.