Layers of masks

When I was 16 I decided what kind of adult I was going to become. The traits I wanted to portray were based on the adults I was surrounded by. Only, I was determined to become the opposite of what they were.
So I put on layers of masks. Not for the fun of it, but out of fear of turning out like my ‘examples’.

In order to be a good person I thought I needed to be positive at all times. Put other’s people’s needs before my own. Be the best employee my bosses had ever seen. Let others walk over me. Be skinny. Be empathic, even to the people that hurt me. Oh, and energetic…

I was a liar and I didn’t realize it. I considered all these masks to be necessary for my survival.
The alternative was to be hated. I was 100 percent convinced of that.

Oh, that black and white thinking… I’m so good at it. Either you’re a doormat, or you’ll end up all alone. Either you’re the perfect coworker, or you’ll get fired. Either you’re skinny, or people will loathe you. And so on.
For years I genuinely believed striving to be that “perfect” person was a solid plan.

It was not.
The thing I forgot is that I have a personality of my own. It took me over 20 years to understand and accept that. The rest of my life will be spent unlearning, becoming me.

It’s a hard job, discovering what I like, where my boundaries are, what my body needs, what makes me happy. And it’s very easy to become bitter, thinking about this, especially on bad days. All this figuring out should have happened in my twenties. But here I am, in my forties, nervous to tell my friends that I’d rather stay at home instead of going out. Scared that they will hate me if I do.

Somehow along the way I managed to surround myself with a number of amazing people. They’re proud of me when I say no, and happy when I tell them about my paintings. And what’s the weirdest thing is: our bond gets stronger every time I show the vulnerability of my true self.

Crazy, right?