I moved again. I packed up my little house of fur and things, and trekked to another place to fill with echoes.
In the moving, I found all these old report cards from when I was a child. 7 or 8 years old. And even then, I was not kind to myself.
Hidden in between all the normal silliness of my nature – Jessie likes to talk, Jessie should entertain, Jessie should pay more attention in class, Jessie tries really hard and is a hard worker – in between all of that…
Jessie lacks self confidence.
Jessie is unsure of herself too often.
Jessie is loud.
How can an 8 year old already be so consumed with doubt, that they start to find ways to hide their nature.
How on earth can an 8 year old already be told that she does not properly fit the mold? To try harder. To fit in.
In the memory of all the things that I hold on to – I can’t remember what made me this way. Was I born like this? Doubting. Consumed with never being enough. Tortured by the power I give to others.
I just know that as I was then – so I am now.
I try really, really hard. But I give my power away too often. Too eagerly. Too quickly.
So I find solace in the solitude.