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"What do you mean, you don't know who you are? You should know who you are by now."
The question hit me like a sucker punch to the stomach.
At 41, you'd think most people have their shit together. That they've fully realized who they are. I thought I was among them. I thought I knew who I was.
But you can only lie to yourself for so long.
Forcing myself to say, do, and act in ways that fit societal norms. Acceptance becoming the key objective. Standing out was never an option. A constant facade, terrified of being figured out. Forced actions eventually turning into second nature. A chameleon navigating the world, adapting to whatever environment surrounded me at the time.
My escape, my comfort zone, my safe space, no longer accomplished what it once did. What used to live at the forefront still remained, only now it lingered in the background like white noise.
I could feel it deep within me. Something taking shape. Me, but not me. I couldn't control it as it slowly emerged. A silent battle clawing at the surface, desperate to make its presence known.
I know what you're thinking-"not another 'I found myself' eat, pray, barf story."
It's not.
I wish it were that simple.
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