In the last few days, I have made several attempts to sit down and write my post for this week. On every occasion, I have deleted every word I’ve written. It just wasn’t good enough.
And then I sat down today, and wondered why I am so hard on myself.
Thoughts of self-doubt swirl through my head as I am writing.
My Anxiety and my Depression pick at my brain- filling it with thoughts like:
I am never good enough for myself.
These thoughts are familiar. They are safe. They are what I know.
But today, I am thinking about the little girl I used to be. I am thinking of the ten-year-old-me who desperately needed someone to believe in her. Not someone. She desperately needed to believe in herself. Now, (almost) 14 years later, I can see bits of her looking back at me when I look at myself.
When I have these days where I don’t feel like I’m good enough, or I’m just being so hard on myself, I imagine what she would think if she met me now.
I like to think she would think I am admirable. She would think I am a force to be reckoned with. She would want to talk about my tattoos- her eyes would tear up as I told her “expecto patronum” was for her. I think she’d be impressed by the amount of schooling I’ve completed. She’d think it was crazy (but totally amazing) that I never gave up on her dream. She’d ask if I was still dancing. I’d be proud to tell her she is getting her 20th Year Award this May.
I would want to brush the hair out of her face. I would tell her she is strong, and no one should ever convince her otherwise. I’d hug her, and tell her that the world isn’t always going to be so cold to her. I would sing to her, and dance with her, and laugh with her. She should know she isn’t as alone as she thinks she is. I want to tell her that she should embrace all of her puzzle pieces, because they make her Olivia. Those pieces make her who she is, and they’ve grown and evolved and developed in incredible ways she could never have imagined.
I’d like her to know that she should be proud of herself, because I am proud of her.
