I can hear the rain outside hitting the glass of my windows, and it feels like my heart is polluted by too many storms created by too many negative thoughts in my brain. I can’t really tell why I feel so down. Maybe because I’m troubled? Maybe because I don’t know what to do about a certain situation that bothers me to the point of causing me nightmares? I shouldn’t be so annoyed. I shouldn’t let frustration take the best of me. I’m better than this, ain’t I?
When I was a little girl in kindergarten, I never cried. I could scrape my knee, bump my elbow into the edge of a table, get into an argument with a girlfriend or be subject to the unfair scolding of a teacher, I didn’t flinch. I took every hit and I stayed strong. My tears were my weakness, and I couldn’t show the world how fragile I felt or I’d be eaten alive. I don’t know why I forced myself to be so tough at such a young age, but this sentiment persisted as I grew up.
I didn’t whine about my divorce when I separated. I only shared some concerns with my girlfriends, and I remember crying myself to sleep every night for months. I came to work the next day and focused on what needed to be done. There was never any time for an emotional break. There was never any time for failure. Day by day, I forced myself to look in the mirror and face the world like a champion. I walked down the street ready to conquer the universe, and nothing could stop me even if inside my heart was shattered in a million pieces.
My reaction to adversity doesn’t feel unique to me. I know many people who did the same thing, my father being first in line after he went through a divorce himself. He woke up and dealt with all the challenges put in his way, and he didn’t complain and didn’t give up. Maybe I’m in the wrong. Maybe I should show my emotions. But I don’t feel comfortable doing so. You know, there’s something I never wrote about that traumatized me immensely, much more than my separation. Yet, I refuse to be victimized. I don’t want people to take pity on me. I want people to think I’m invincible. I want people to believe I never experienced a single bad moment in my life. Maybe someday I’ll draft a post about this traumatic event. Maybe someday I’ll tell the world about it. For now I carry my burden and I take the bad memories as a gift. I’ve accepted them so I could be stronger. I’ve overcome the pain and I’ve grown wiser.
It angers me to witness certain people don’t follow the same path. They allow themselves to be weak. They allow themselves to be defeatist. They cry whenever they feel a bit annoyed. They show no resistance to the outside world, and I wonder, what image do they see when they look in the mirror?
I sometimes think I’m a bitch. I sometimes think I’m intolerant. I often joke I must be made of steel, probably something coming from my German heritage. When I look in the mirror, I’m aware I’m far from perfect. So I take it one day at a time, and every minute that goes by I love myself a little bit more, because I know deep inside I was born a fighter.
I’m writing this after the fact.
This post came from a dark place. The need to write was triggered because I felt frustrated. I don’t want people to think I’m a bitch. I’m not. I’m a very caring and loving person. But when I try to help somebody and that somebody refuses my help, I tend to just shut down.
I have to be the adult here. And I make mistakes like everybody.