For my fourteenth birthday, if I recall correctly, I was given a journal. A gift from Margo. She told me I could use this journal to write about anything at all, anything I felt I couldnt tell anyone else, and it would be my safe space. No one would ever read it but me, and I could trust that journal to keep my secrets. How lovely. The very first time I wrote in it, I wrote some teenagery angst-filled nonsense about how I hate everything and everyone. The next day I came home from school to a rage filled Margo who spent the next two hours screaming at me about how selfish I was and how I didnt think about how my actions would affect others. Because she read my journal, and lord knows, I was not allowed to have feelings she didnt like. I never wrote another genuine entry in my journal. Until I married Michael, I never again came close to having a safe space. I just assumed everyone would hate me if they saw who I was. Im pretty sure I just cleared up any questions as to why Im so adamant about being myself one hundred percent of the time. Because Im no longer punished for it. Now, Im celebrated for it. Applauded. Encouraged to be myself in the most raw, real ways possible. If someone makes you feel as though who you really are is not acceptable, get that person out of your life. They arent supposed to be there.
Posted on: Mon, 14 Jul 2014 19:35:35 +0000
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