Misunderstood

For the better part of my life, I've always felt misunderstood.

People never really understood what I had lived through before they met me. They saw my reactions, my behaviours, my independence, my opinions, my need for space, and they formed conclusions.

But they never saw what came before.

For years, I wore a mask.

I smiled when I needed to.

I laughed when everyone else laughed or smiled to show I was present.

I pushed myself to be brave, to hide my internal feelings.

I tried to fit in.

Because that's what you do when you grow up believing that being accepted is something you have to earn and that you have to prove you deserve.

As I got older, though, something shifted.

I realized that maybe I didn't want to fit in with everybody.

Maybe the way everyone else thinks isn't the way I have to think nor want to think.

Maybe it's okay to disagree.

Maybe it's okay to take up space.

When I look back now, I understand much more about myself than I ever have before.

I understand why I reacted the way I did.

Why I struggled to trust people.

Why I've always wanted to believe there was good in everyone.

Because there is a part of me that still wants to believe that.

And I don't think one person should define everyone else.

But somewhere along the way, I also realized something else.

The people I've met throughout my life have often put me into the same box before they ever took the time to know me.

Too emotional.

Too much.

Too opinionated.

Too difficult.

Too independent.

Too intimidating.

Whatever label made them comfortable.

And that's a lonely place to live.

Because inside, I've spent years trying to keep myself together.

People don't see the battle happening underneath the surface.

They don't see the constant conversations I have with myself.

The moments where I push myself to keep going. To remind myself how far I've come.

The moments where I've had to challenge the voice in the back of my mind that still echoes those words spoken to me as a child.

It gets exhausting when you have to be your only fan, your only supporter, and the only one who keeps reminding yourself that you're going to be okay.

For years I wondered if people saw something in me that I was blinded to.

Why did I keep ending up in the same kinds of situations?

Why did I keep becoming the person who carried more, tolerated more, forgave more, fought more?

Why did I keep walking away feeling like I had somehow become the problem?

Maybe I wasn't.

Maybe I was simply trying to survive in the only ways I knew how.

Recently, I found myself in another situation that brought all those feelings rushing back.

I'm trying to do my part.

Trying to be a good employee.

Trying to navigate a workplace that, over time, has slowly chipped away at my confidence and left me questioning myself in ways I never expected.

Not because I can't do the job.

Because somewhere along the way, I stopped feeling safe doing it.

I didn't ask for less responsibility.

I didn't ask for special treatment.

I simply realized that I do my best work when my nervous system isn't constantly bracing for impact.

Being around people scares me sometimes.

Not because I think everyone is bad.

Because being misunderstood has become exhausting.

I've spent my life feeling judged before someone has taken the time to know me ...

I've spent decades trying to prove I was enough ...

My nervous system has finally had enough ...

I no longer feel the need to explain myself.

I stopped wanting to convince people to see me.

I simply want peace.

That's where I find myself today.

Not giving up.

Just tired.

The kind of tired that settles into your bones after fighting the same battle for decades.

Sometimes the negative thoughts creep in.

What am I doing?

What am I still fighting for?

Why does this still hurt?

Then I remind myself ...

I haven't come this far to abandon myself now.

For so much of my life, I believed I had to keep proving who I was.

That if I just explained myself better ...

worked harder ...

loved harder ...

gave more ...

people would finally see me and understand me. And maybe even appreciate me.

Now I see things differently.

Not everyone is meant to understand me.

Because not everyone will.

And maybe that's okay.

Because the person I've spent my entire life trying to understand ...

was me.

Maybe that's why I've spent so many years trying to explain myself.

Trying to make people see that beneath the reactions was just a little girl who learned how to survive.

A woman who kept surviving.

A woman who never stopped trying.

Maybe people will understand me one day.

Maybe they won't.

But I'm finally beginning to understand myself.

And for the first time ...

I think that's enough.

Because I AM ENOUGH.