I’ve worked out what my issue is the last couple of weeks. Last year I became wholly my authentic self. I no longer wear a mask, any mask. None fit.
I think, well, really, I know, I used to wear a mask. It didn’t come on suddenly, but as my passion diminished for work and for life, as the fertility treatments amassed with little to no real result, a wall between myself and feeling was constructed.
It served me well. I could do my job as a Head Teacher in a difficult school and hide my feelings. Well, mostly. Occasionally humanity would come in.
Then, 2016. Investigation. Breakdown. My world, as I knew it, ceased to be. Everything I thought I knew and everything I thought I was, ceased to be. Mask ripped off as I spent 2017 rebuilding myself and my life.
I’ve grown to love me. I’ve grown to like who I am. I no longer wear a mask. My crazy is showcased for all to see. I can’t hide an emotion or a thought to save myself. To the extreme.
I’m at peace. I’m happy. When I am doing the things that align with my highest values.
I’m working on my poverty consciousness and seeing changes already. I know I’m still moving forward. I’m very grateful. I feel very blessed.
It’s been a very long road, with many more steps to come. The flowers on the way make it worthwhile. Clumsy metaphor but the spirit is pure. See, no edits, no need.