The moment I knew I lost myself

It wasn't until I was completely lost that I began to fin out who I really was.

It wasn’t until I was completely lost that I began to find out who I really was.

There’s a certain beauty in breaking down. I didn’t see it when it was happening, and I’m fairly certain those around me didn’t see anything particularly pretty about it either, but it was there. This shimmer of something, and perhaps it’s only really ever visible after everything’s done, crumbled, shattered, and torn apart. But the beauty’s there. I think if you can’t see it, then you’ve not truly been broken.

It’s a strange thing when you no longer know who you are. Wait, that’s a lie; you know who you are through the eyes of others. You know how you need to be to satisfy them. You know what they need from you and you willingly supply that, even if it goes against something deep within you. You change and manipulate and morph to suit each situation. And you lose yourself. Completely.

I did.

Sometimes, I wish I could pinpoint the exact second something in my brain said for lack of a better word: WTF? Obviously, I can’t. But I can at least narrow it down to a moment, a slice of life in which I took a moment to assess myself and what I’d been doing to self-destruct, implode, and generally waste away what little was left of the real Miranda.

It took a lot of breaking, a lot of shattering to get to that moment. It took waking up to the shame I’d built up over time. A shame I’d kept hidden from everyone, even myself. I didn’t understand the shame, but I knew it was there. At the time, I knew it as guilt, which was false.

Oh sure, I’m guilty of doing and saying things, things I can’t change nor take back, but that’s not what broke me. Guilt is regret for an action, shame is a disagreement with who you are as a person. No, my shame broke me. My inability to be vulnerable — with anyone, but most specifically, with myself.

Over the past year I’ve learned a great deal about myself, things I’d either ignored or pushed aside for years, decades perhaps. I’m not the most interesting person, in fact I think I’m rather dull. I don’t have profound thoughts very often. I say some really dumb things more often than I should, and I think simple humour is actually quite endearing and makes me laugh more than it should. I am a hopeless romantic. I love sappy movies. I fart a lot. I absolutely hate disappointing people (the key to me losing myself, in fact). I’m a horrendous cook, but I make a mean cookie. I don’t always want to smile and say hello to everyone I meet, sometimes I feel angry and bitchy and I want to be that way (too bad). I don’t think my writing is that good. I know I make mistakes all the time when I write and when I edit. I still hate running (see previous blog entry). I’m petrified of change, despite desperately craving it.

I’ve struggled to accept the real me, the me I thought I had to keep hidden to save face and be the girl everyone else was satisfied and happy with.

That broke me.

And from that break emerged me. From the fissure rose something better, something stronger, something real.

The moment I knew I lost myself was the first time I saw a glimpse of beauty because I’d broken, badly. It’s extremely hard to see through all the shards, all the bits and shrapnel. It’s not easy nor is it in the least bit pleasant. But keeping an eye on that beauty, understanding how fleeting it can be and wanting to hold on to it, that will keep you whole.

I’m still picking up pieces. Still catching glimpses of hidden beauty and rays of the real Miranda. It’s not a short and easy journey, not in the least.

Being a mother, a writer, a recently separated wife, a runner, a daughter, a friend, an enemy, an unfaithful partner, a lousy friend, a lover, a hater, an idiot, and an occasional genius all played a role in how I lost myself, and they are playing equally important roles in me discovering the real me.

There’s a beauty in the break, a beauty I’m still embracing and exploring. It’s still tarnished and dirty and not quite appealing to everyone yet (and it won’t ever appeal to everyone), but it’s there. And I’m so grateful and happy that it is.

~ by drivingmsmiranda on December 28, 2014.

7 Responses to “The moment I knew I lost myself”

  1. […] wasn’t always open about myself, hell, I wasn’t ever really myself at all until recently. However, now, I’m an open book. I’ll tell you how I feel, what […]

  2. […] I analyze my feelings and emotions more than I used to. Much more than I used to. Mostly because I kept most of my emotions hidden and trapped inside for so long, and now they’re all there just bubbling under the surface, […]

  3. […] shards of myself had no where else to go and they came spilling out and the world was privy to my brokenness I shattered all over again in a whole new way. Because, you see, as humans we’re rather like […]

  4. […] go back to that place you were before. I see you trying to sink back, to step into the same shadows you emerged from months ago. Fuck […]

  5. […] took me a great deal of time to be as comfortable with my adult self in the same way. Don’t we all wish we could handle things as we did as children when […]

  6. […] family births and deaths, my marriage, my child, my affair, my freedom; and through it all me discovering bits and pieces of myself I didn’t even know needed […]

  7. […] easier. I know you think it will, but it won’t. Don’t you remember how that went the first time? The first time you lost yourself? Don’t go back there, […]

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