Labels
Yesterday I published my last blog post. I started my blog in March of 2013 on a whim, trying to be like the bloggers I admired, and it was one of the best decisions of my life. My little blog gave me endless hours of pleasure, fulfillment, joy and growth. It helped me get to know myself better, I found a community, and the best thing of all: I discovered my voice.
Before blogging I didn't have a voice. I didn't know who I was or what I wanted. I was desperate to belong, to be liked, to be part of something. But if you don't know who you are you can't belong. You first have to get to know yourself and like yourself; then you will find your people.
I thought to be loved had to be earned.
As a child I learnt that I had to be obedient and well-behaved to get love and affection.
As a teenager I had to be easy-going and fun to be allowed into the inner circle of the cool kids I desperately wanted to belong to.
As an adult I attempted to be a chameleon, trying to adapt to my environment: be the mature wife when I was with my husband's friends, all 30-40 years older than me; the fun young stepmom/friend to my stepdaughters; a "normal" (what the hell even was that?) young woman when I tried to fit in with my female co-workers who were around my age.
When I started blogging at age 33 I had no idea who I was.
For the longest time I collected labels like trophies: I was a daughter and sister, a wife and stepmother, an x-ray technologist and a financially independent woman. I lost some labels, either by choice or circumstance: granddaughter, daughter-in-law, organist, church-goer, Christian. I gained others: auntie, oma (=grandma), yogi, blogger.
There were the labels society told me I needed as a woman: attractive, fit, hard-working, fun, easy-going, polite, accommodating, friendly, smiley, nice.
And then there were the labels I chased after but was unsure if I was worthy of: friend, writer, woman with opinions, complete human being with nothing to prove.
By regularly writing down my chaotic thoughts I slowly started to make sense of myself. I've written hundreds of thousands of words over the last 9 years, and out of that mass of words an image emerged. Blog post by blog post I discovered another piece of me, one that went beyond labels.
I learnt to look at myself and truly see myself, for the first time in my life.
I discovered the person that I was without the labels, without the justifications for my existence. I got to know the essence of me, all the flaws and strengths, the quirks and idiosyncrasies, the socially acceptable and unacceptable parts that make me, me: my exuberance and despair, the quick laughter and quick tears, the deep trust and distrust in people, my chronic sadness and indestructible optimism, my brokenness and completeness.
Little by little I learnt to reach out for help. I learnt to open up about what I had once considered my greatest shame: my mental illness, my self-medication, my deep-seated need to be alone, my impatience for people.
Writing my blog inspired me to read thousands of articles, blog posts, thoughts and stories of other people, and the more I read, the more I began to understand how alike we are underneath our superficial differences.
We all want to be loved and understood. We are all afraid of not belonging. And we all are terrified that we will be rejected for who we are.
That's why we try so desperately to imitate those who are considered to be popular and successful: the thought that someone may look at us, find us lacking, and reject us because we're not enough is unbearable.
Here is the great secret: the trick to being loved and understood is loving and understanding yourself first.
Once you manage that you will radiate a new confidence and self-acceptance that is wildly appealing to others. The best part? By the time you've come this far, what others think of you will matter a lot less.
It's still nice to be liked, but it won't break you anymore if you're not.
The world we live in is crazy about labels. It wants to put us into boxes to quickly judge if we're like them, if we are compatible and worth their time. Are we living in the right neighbourhood, do we have similar political views, are we blue- or white-collar? Are we tidy or messy, rich or poor, "normal" or different?
These days I don't care much for labels anymore. I care about if you're open, kind, and interested in the human condition. Do you find humour in the everyday? Do you have compassion for others? Are you non-judgemental? Do you live and let live?
Tell me something interesting about yourself that has nothing to do with status, money, or pretentiousness.
Tell me who you really are beyond the labels the world is trying to force upon us.
Tell me your story.
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