Finally Fitting into the Meatsuit.

I’m not sure where I’m going with this post yet. I assume I will find a path as I walk it. It’s Monday, so today is blog post day. I set up a writing schedule for 2016 (this is the year I kick my own ass), and Monday is reserved for blog posts. Monday is my current favorite day of the week. I write from my house, so Monday is the day when everything resets for me. On Monday, I get things accomplished. Monday is quiet. Monday is peaceful. Monday is solitary.

There’s a little falling apart going on in my life. Not necessarily in a bad way. More of a “tear things down to build things up” way. Since I am in the tearing down stage, my thoughts are scattered and a bit raw at the edges. I would like to immerse myself in a manuscript and be productive, but my tolerance for sitting at my desk is low. Irrespective of the relatively mild winter, warmer weather cannot arrive too soon.  

To be honest, I’m not a fan of where I live. I recognize that I am not a city dweller. I am happy to layer-up and go walking in the snow, but not in the city. The return is not worth the effort. Not even for smaller thighs. Soon, I will be moving to a more rural area. I will walk in the snow there. The recognition that I am not a city/suburban person is a strong first step for me.

For years, I have been told who I am. I have been told that I am an extrovert, that I am an attention-seeker, that I am a drama queen, and even that I am a catalyst. I’ve been told what jobs I should pursue – teacher, lawyer (as specific as “You’d be great at agency law,”), and event planner. All jobs well suited for the extrovert.

I’ve had roles prescribed for me – mother, PTA volunteer, wife. I’ve heard a lot about what I should be, how I should act and speak. I’ve also been advised frequently what I should not be and how I should not act. One Christmas, I received two books: a biography of Princess Diana, and an autobiography of Sarah Ferguson, Duchess of York. I was advised to read both, avoid behaving like Fergie, and emulate Diana. That Christmas pretty much captures my life. Be this, not that.

And I’ve tried. Really, I have. There’s just this little problem I have. I have trouble being anyone but myself, and I’ve concluded that I just don’t want to be anyone but myself any longer. What compounds my identity dilemma is that I’ve worked at being someone other than myself for so long, and so diligently, I’m not sure who I am.

I’ve been acting in roles for so long I sympathize with actors. I understand exactly how difficult it is being someone else when pieces of you are pushing at the elastic that holds the mask to your face. I understand how hard it is to know you are a disappointment to people who are important in your life. I have no doubt that I am a disappointment to people. There are times when I’ve disappointed myself. Hell, anyone who’s been on a diet since eighth grade should be to maintain a single digit size, right? That right there has been an enormous frustration I have with myself. 

          I wonder who I would have been if I’d been me for longer periods. If I’d been more accepting of that person in the mirror and not so scornful of the meatsuit staring back. Instead of pushing myself to be the extrovert, I thought I was supposed to be, maybe I should have let myself hang back and observe as I really wanted to.

There’s so much to change about the way I handle myself, and frankly, I’m worried that I’ve left it too late. I need to allow myself to just to be calm, and do what feels right to me. There are people cringing right now, if they’re reading this, and thinking, “oh no, please don’t, we know you.” Here’s the thing: You don’t know me, you really don’t. I wish you did. I wish that you would see me, not what you worry about seeing.

I’m sad that many people look at others through a filter of anxiety – they see others only in relation to themselves, not for what they really are. If someone is afraid that I’m going to embarrass them, they’ll ignore everything I do right up until the moment that they’re uncomfortable and then hold onto that moment as justification. Yep, you felt embarrassment over something I did. Let me ask you a question: why? What reflection is my action on you? Unless, of course, you bear some responsibility for the act?

If you urged me to be someone other than who I am, you have to take the outcome of that as partially your doing. If you’d just let me be, my actions belong to me and aren’t a reflection on you. I’ve heard the reasons. “I just want people to like you,” and “I only want the best for you.” I’ve come to doubt that, on both counts. I believe the truth is really, “I want people to like me, and I’m afraid if they don’t like you, they won’t like me;” and, “I want to be comfortable with who you are, so please don’t be someone I’m not comfortable being with.”
Going forward, I don’t think I can be anyone other than myself. I’m sure I don’t want to be anyone else. I accept that the future may be a week of Mondays for me: quiet, peaceful, and primarily solitary. I’m okay with that, because frankly, me, myself, and meatsuit – we’re not all that bad.