Thoughts on who I am and what makes me...me.
The energy it took to get me to exist as I am now seems monumental. From conception, I simply came about from a Florida girl and a Mississippi boy having a spring fling in college, but I mean to say that it took a great deal for me to become the woman I am today. And I may be overly proud of that. I am letting go of the struggle and learning to leave with ease, and it's a lesson and a luxury I hope to share with others around, especially my own children (if conditions allow me to have them).
Reflective and a little uptight, I lived what felt like a life of supporting my mother through single parenthood. The eldest child stereotypically gets parentified, especially daughters, and I fit the stereotype completely. My parents were proud of me for my willingness to conform to the polite, nurturing, and domestic image of a southern belle while simultaneously preparing me for the demands of the modern world that drove me to pursue lucrative careers like engineering and politics. Now, I'm beginning to see that my parents weren't proud of me, they were proud of themselves for molding a mind and living a life they couldn't. Ego told hold in the parent-child relationship: I was only their latest and greatest creation. That should make me feel special, but in a poor, working-class family, it created too much pressure. Failure was not an option.
Failure inevitably came through; however, my spirit was not adverse to the experience. This was the beginning of my spirituality: releasing myself from expectations to be the exception and not the norm. I got into a good college. I'm still proud of that; however, my failures shaped me and ultimately led to my current belief system. I failed in every area: health, love, school, family, confidence. I did not bounce back from my adversity immediately or white knuckle through it. I took a lot of breaks and I found peace in several activities.
Writing has always been the fallback, but when I fell in love with an emotionally unavailable person, the pastime lost its luster and I would even begin to cry. I wrote to the person a lot and even the mere action brought about tears. So I took to cooking and took on challenging recipes like mochi, paella, various chilis, and hand-pressed ravioli. I read cookbooks and watched Chopped for a year.
Next was meditation. I was reluctant to join a group because it was Buddhist, but the dean who advised me to go at my alma mater reassured me that the practice was open to people with secular views. I eventually took Buddhism in as a refuge anyway and it brought me peace, clarity, and compassion in a way that I can't describe. I was even able to make some progress in reconciling with the unrequited love I mentioned earlier.
Gaming also took on a role in my recovery, as well as music. I dramatically increased my skills in both areas and it gave me confidence.
Something I wish I reflected more. Although I consider myself introspective, I believe my methods could use improvement. While taking on these actions got me through a rough patch, working part-time while in college for seven years, I need to consider how all of my actions impact my health and well-being: before, during, and after.
Exercise is one of the best ways to notice your body before, during, and after, and I don't do it enough. As someone with a mood disorder, I don't take exercise seriously enough as a treatment for my symptoms and a contribution to mindfulness.
Before. During. After.
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