No one ever hears the silent tears collecting.
That’s really been why I haven’t put much effort in writing lately. I’ve been too busy wringing out tears from my bed sheets and pillowcases instead of keeping updated with my two-month old website where I secretly vowed to write something at least once every two weeks. Forgive me, I’m human. In between normal life tasks and work festivities, my time has been divided between trying to fill up my calendar in order to distract myself from overthinking the events that have been happening in my life and all the emotions that come along with them, whilst attempting to get myself together. And by “get myself together” I mean that I’ve been on this journey of finding myself; because the honest truth is that I had completely lost myself. I’ve heard thousands of stories and have watched hundreds of films about people endeavoring to find who they are and their purposes in this world. Up until now, I never sought those questions to be my nemesis. I’ve always felt like I’ve known my purpose, where I fit in, who I was and where my identity was grounded.
But then my world was shaken hard to the core, and I began to question everything. It was two months ago.
I literally broke and spiraled down, in all ways possible—emotionally, physically, and mentally. My health suffered because my body relapsed after only a week and a half of being in remission. I lost interest in all the things I thought I loved doing, but participated in activities I normally would not. I no longer felt a sense of belongingness because I didn’t feel like I fit in anywhere. I felt like I had to tip-toe around because I was walking on already cracked eggshells everywhere I went, and didn’t want to dirty up the mess any further. I was tactical in conversations, and was purposeful and strategic about my social activities. I questioned my friendships—near and far, new and old. And I experienced this lack of value, where I genuinely convinced myself I had nothing to contribute to this world, or to the people surrounding me. I didn’t want to be kind, because all I knew was that kindness threw me under a bus and then ran over my flesh several times. It was the strangest thing because I didn’t feel like me. I didn’t behave like me… whoever “me” was any way.
Then one morning, I woke up and blatantly questioned myself out loud, (of course with all the tears streaming down like the Niagara Falls, because that’s been the theme as of late) “REALLY, WHO ARE YOU?!” I had no answer for myself. Just silence. And then there was this whisper, “Go find out…”
I’ve been taking myself on adventures. I’ve been to more beaches and on more shady hikes than I can count on my fingers and toes, combined. I’ve been driving all around town, up and down the coast nestling myself under piers unnameable on Foursquare, undiscoverable on Yelp, and undetectable by Google Maps. I’ve found quite the collection of dwellings where I can just sit and let the sunshine smile on my skin. And, I have added to my list of favorite coffee shop spots to go to for reading and working and writing.
Sometimes, you need to lose yourself in order to find yourself. You need to fall out of love with yourself in order to fall back in love with yourself.
When hard life shenanigans happen, we tend to lose sight of who we are and what we were truly made for. God is breathing life and purpose into me again. He is taking me into a deeper relationship with Him, while at the same time, teaching me how to rediscover and fall in love with myself once more. He is rekindling my love for old things, but also opening and introducing me to new things and different people, and building in me more values, characteristics, and perspectives.
The other day, I was having this conversation with one of my best friends/partner in crime. I asked her about her journey with self-discovery, in which she replied, “I’m always rediscovering myself. I’m finding myself every day. I’m still discovering myself right now.” Then there was this realization that we, as humans, are constantly changing. Our environments are constantly changing. It would be silly to ditch the idea of rediscovery and assume that you’ll always be “who you are.” That person you see in the mirror probably won’t be that person five, ten, or twenty years from now. But we can take the good pieces of us and move forward to build better versions of ourselves.
You are allowed. There is always room for rediscovery, for redefining, and for reinventing. Don’t be afraid to pursue it, and don’t let anyone tell you that you can’t be someone different if you want to be, but let it also be who you were meant to be.
Our cuts and bruises are often the invitation into the most beautiful pieces of who you are.
There is always a story.
There is a story behind everything and everyone—how a picture got framed on a wall, how a scar formed on your forearm, how a memory became implanted on your soul. Sometimes, the stories are simple, but sometimes they are hard and heartbreaking. But behind every single one of your stories, lays a piece of you.
So be patient. Be hopeful. Don’t give up because eventually, you will see such grandiose things. The dark and silent hours will not be wasted because you are just slowly being grown. First pruned. But then you will see that you are being remolded and rebuilt, renewed and refreshed.
