Long Time Coming
Long Time Coming
I'm not the person I used to be. That's a good thing.
I graduated from high school ten years ago. Typing and rereading that sentence feels weird; sometimes it feels like yesterday, and sometimes it feels like it was a hundred years ago. Sometimes I feel like I’ve grown so much, and other times I feel like I haven’t changed at all. I think the latter is my anxiety talking, because I really am different from who I was when I was 18.
Fundamentally speaking, no. I’m not all that different from who I was when I was younger. I’m still determined, funny, kind, smart, and pretty stubborn. The difference is that I’m a better version of who I was when I was younger, the version of myself that really only existed inside my head, the one most people who knew me then don’t know. It’s taken a long time for me to grow into it, to really feel comfortable being that person all the time.
I’m not shy or fearful by nature; being introverted is not the same thing. I used to seem extremely shy and quiet because of my anxiety, and because I was constantly held back and forced to be small. My peers were as nervous around me as I was them, and I was convinced it was my fault. That it was something I did, that they all just hated me for some unknown reason. This has probably taken the longest for me to unlearn, to not be socially anxious. I have to fight it and actively go against my impulses — the part of my brain that says no one cares, people only tolerate you, etc. — every single day. I want to form stronger bonds with other people, but it takes effort for me to get out of my own way.
That anxiety also makes me hesitate to say what I’m really thinking and feeling. It doesn’t help that I come from a family of big, opinionated personalities. I’m the quietest of my siblings and cousins, and I tend to be more of a listener than someone who likes the sound of my own voice. It’s taken me a long, long time to realize keeping things to myself isn’t always the best decision. I can’t handle absolutely everything on my own, and waiting until I burst always ends badly.
When I do have something to say, it tends to be thoughtful at the very least. I’ve always been opinionated, even if I don’t feel like I have the space and respect to share those opinions all the time. It’s often assumed that I’m incapable of thinking for myself, of forming my own opinions. You’d think people being so ableist would make me want to share my opinions more, to prove a point; in a way, it does. That’s what this newsletter is for, but I mean in spoken words. It might not be the most eloquent, and I might stumble over my words and shake a little, but it’ll be honest.
I think the biggest gift all this time has given me is the freedom to be myself. The physical and emotional space. I’m not completely there yet, but I’m getting closer. Truthfully, 18 year old me didn’t like themselves very much. Feeling so restrained and reserved and scared turned me into someone I don’t like. My anxiety makes me worry about what people think of me: what I say and think, my appearance, even just my presence. It’s taken a lot of therapy to learn that my anxiety and PTSD are more often than not lying to me. That shitty people don’t question if they’re shitty, or if they’re doing enough. Straight people don’t ask themselves if having little crushes on their friends regardless of those people’s gender makes them gay (or bisexual, in my case). People who really are lazy and unmotivated don’t strive for anything beyond what they already have.
After hiding so much of myself for such a long time it occurred to me that I don’t fucking care. I mean, I do, but I don’t. Being who I know I really am publicly, on my terms, is just so much easier. I don’t have to pick and choose which parts to show. Upsetting people just by existing is no longer my problem. I’m done being careful. It’s only going to get better from here.