My past will always be a part of me. Everything I did, everything that was done to me, everything I’ve been through… That story will always live on inside of me. But what I’m starting to realize and actually believe is that it doesn’t have to define me anymore.
I’ve carried a great deal of unacknowledged shame about my past. I lived in fear that when others found out what I did, where I’d been, who I once was… they would never see me as anything but broken, dirty, weak and unloveable. But I see now that that fear was a projection. Others weren’t as cruel as I was to myself. Even if they knew everything about me, they still accepted me. They looked at me and saw strength, even as I threw daggers at my own reflection.
A lot of that shame has recently been unearthed for me. I guess I always knew that it couldn’t stay hidden forever.
I drew a picture yesterday in ink, of a mirror dividing two girls who faced each other. Their palms touched, but their arms belonged to two entirely different people. The girl on the left was me, today… the girl on the other side was the person with whom I identified for so much of my life. She was naked, scared, bruised, covered in dirt… She was what I believed myself to be because of my past.
…and I’m only just starting to realize that I’m no longer her.
I’m still in the process of honoring that broken girl, that girl who had been through so much, the girl to which I’ve been so ruthless and abusive. She deserves to be respected because despite the past, she carried me through. She survived. And though I may look back at her sometimes and feel guilt, disgust, sadness or even fear that she’ll become me again, she is not unworthy. She did the best she could. And by letting her rest after all that she’s been through, by living on for both of us, I can honor her. I can continue the fight for both of us.
My past will always be a part of me, but it will never again be all that I am.
Write to Live 