Here’s the confession: I care way too much about what people
think of me. It’s a hideous character trait that I’ve developed over the
twenty-some-odd years of my life. Growing up, I was taught that being the “favorite”
was the most important thing in my family.
Honestly, it turned out to be the worst advice anyone has
ever given me.
People would smile at me, “Oh, Alecia is so sweet, just like
her Mom.”
They loved me because I did what they wanted me to do. I was
easily manipulated and they knew it. With the very stroke of a finger, I would
break down and restructure myself to be anything anyone needed. Pliable, I
would easily take form of any hands that dared to try and mold me.
I thought those hands meant that I was loved and cared for. They
only said and did these things because they wanted the best fit for me, right?
Wear this.
Do this.
Say this.
Walk like this.
Look like this.
Behave like this…
Any deviation from lines set for me resulted in disapproval,
disappointment and ultimately abandonment.
I hate feeling like people are “giving up on” me. I often
feel like I have invested so much into other people and maintaining their happiness,
that when I do something that they don’t agree with, they walk away like I’m
nothing but a total disappointment.
I was there for you through the worst of it all, and because
I do one thing that you don’t agree with, I’m automatically the worst person in
the world.
Wow.
People are so fickle.
This devastated me. With people walking away and leaving for
my imperfections and differences, I lost my value. My value was not found in anything
but the approving nods and applause of others.
Being under the influence of many hands except One has left
me lopsided, empty, fragile, and inconsistent in my nature. I look in the
mirror and I don’t recognize myself. I see little to know value because I know
not who and whose I am. So many fingerprints left on me—so many IDs, I can’t
seem to find my own. It’s like a crime scene; my death from willingly being
strangled and smothered… all to be loved.
So without it, who am I?
“Unidentified female…”
There are mysteries to be solved, keys to be used to unlock
the answer… but first I must be crushed and kneaded.
This isn’t starting over. This is giving me over to the
Potter to begin anew, again.
