On Accepting Myself

Do you accept yourself, as you are?” my therapist asked, as she sat across from me, staring at me, awaiting an answer.

My lips tingled, the feeling spread to my nose and upward. I thought long and hard, my lips twitching every so often as I readied an appropriate answer. Alas, the only appropriate answer suprised even me. I shook and stuttered, my throat nearly closing with fear as it escaped my vocal cords and traveled forever before escaping my lips.


“Why do you think that is?”

“I don’t know, dammit. Because so much has changed? Because I don’t know who I am anymore?”

“Who are you?”

“I don’t know.”

I don’t know.

It’s a frightening thing to realize you don’t know who you are anymore. To realize you lost yourself somewhere along the way. In your head, you retrace all your steps. All your missteps. Your judgments. Your choices. You wonder where you lost your sense of self. Why you lost your sense of self. Did you sacrifice it for a worthy cause? Did a thief sneak in and steal it? Did you stop caring? What the hell happened to you? When did you give into the vortex and let life sweep away your essence? How do you get it back?

Slowly. Deliberately. Passionately.

Once you’ve realized you’ve lost yourself, there’s room for re-invention. For rediscovering your essence and purpose. Sure, what’s gone needs to be mourned. But the possibilities for what can be are limitless and only bound to confines created by you. There’s no box. No pre-determined fate into which you must mold yourself. There’s only the infinite possibility of what you will become. Freedom awaits you. All you have to do is reach out and grab it, hold on, and enjoy the ride.

Friday Soother

Life isn’t about finding yourself. Life is about creating yourself.
— George Bernard Shaw