Who even AM I to do this thing?
Who am I to presume people will trust me?
Who am I to charge money or teach or preach?
Who am I to be worthy of reciprocity for the things I do.
Though we have all run into these intrusive thoughts, someone with prolonged abuse actually operates with this notion constantly.
It physically feels impossible to receive.
Yet we want to give give give.
We let others write their own success stories and earn a living off of a variety of ideas. Borrowed. New. Modified. Collaborated.
And they get to have that because they just make it so.
I have had trouble making it so.
Required skills for that include rewiring my brain, treating my PTSD and warding off my depression.
Cutting off toxic people, changing my living situation, removing bad habits. Adopting good ones.
A body, mind and spiritual shift.
And this year I had to ask myself the hard question...
Can I make this shift?
Can I gift myself this shift? And then accept it from myself?
Because shifting IS A GIFT.
And when someone offers to teach you how to do it, you hesitate to invest.
Not in them.
It is fear, apprehension, and resistance of joy that keep you small. Weak. Sad.
I always told myself those were marketing schemes.
That promises of change and transformation were lies. To get someone else rich. Or better off. Or higher up.
That happiness given to me was a trick someone else played in order to get ahead.
I had to really dig deep and ask myself WHY.
Why the heck do I feel this way?
Well. It follows the same logic that let me love assholes.
I loved people who hurt me. I was cared for people who hurt me.
When a healthy person gets hurt by someone else, they feel an instinct to run. To report. To even alert everyone.
When I was abused, i was silent. I took it.
I hugged and I kissed and I was intimately close with people who abused me.
Over and over and over.
So what do you think I do to myself?
When I have a joyous opportunity knock or a positive thought come along, do I answer the call?
No. I view positivity as a trap because only pain ever kissed me on the lips.
Only pain ever tucked me into bed.
So now I ask myself at 29....
Who am i?
I am everything everyone else made me.
A casing of fears and sadness? Fat deposits and scars? Is this what I tell myself?
That is all wrong.
It does not matter what other people told me I was or convinced me I was.
Not knowing who I am now is also a gift.
I now get to decide.
Clay in my hands and muscles already firmly sculpting.
Because I've known how to build up other people like projects.
And just never penciled in my own session.
Who am I?
A woman of empowerment, bravery, creativity, and passion.
A woman born with ideas sparking out of me like they have a life of their own. Busting at the seams, waiting to be birthed and celebrated.
I have had abilities all along that not only aided in my survival through the hard times but now bring me happiness my life.
So day by day, I am going to shape my body, spirit and mind as the woman I wish to embody. Behave like. Live intentionally like.
I am going to start reading my own damn bed time stories.
In fact, I'm going to write them.
♡ J.S. Jaded Savior
Published by Jean Soto JS Jaded Savior blog: email@example.com
Jean Soto, mother of 3 and wife, is a writer + artist in the Hudson Valley, NY community.
Content mention of Rape, Abuse, Neglect, Addictions, Mental Illness, Kidnap, Molestation, Child abuse, Teen Pregnancy, Abortion, birth, body image, gender/identity dysphoria, sexuality, personal trauma, domestic violence and other extremely personal stories. Please practice caution. I am not a licensed physician or mental health professional. No medical prescribing is provided on this site, Only personal insights, experience stories, and advice; All stories published have had prior authorization. Questions? Contact Jean at: firstname.lastname@example.org
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