A few years ago, I worked for a medical alert company. During a one-on-one meeting with one of the supervisors, I had a bit of a melt down. It was strange, but sort of expected. I was pregnant with my son, so bouts of emotion were quite common. The meeting was just about to begin, but my supervisor had to step out for a moment, and when she came back, she found me sitting there, a blubbering mess. I wish I could truly only blame my hormones, and although they played a huge part in it, they weren’t the cause.
There I was, a single mom to my unborn child, who wasn’t sure how I was going to do. I have a plan for my life, and my current position wasn’t it. I felt like shit. I wasn’t doing what I wanted to be doing, and I certainly wasn’t being me. I forgive myself now because I realize how much trauma weight I was under, but back then, I was super harsh to myself. I was a down right bitch to myself, and it finally caught up.
I tried explaining this to my boss. I wasn’t happy with my life but had no idea how to change it. Then she asked me a question that I toiled with for years. It was only very recently that I figured out the answer.
She said, “Kayla, what does happiness look like to you?”
Fuck if I knew.
I kept coming up with what I wanted to be, which was a writer. Little could I see that I was already a writer. I felt like a failure because the people who graduated with me seemed so successful, and here I was, no college degree, a single mom, had my first good paying job (that sucked the soul out of me), with nothing to show for my twenty some years.
If I could go back in time, I’d be a little more loving with younger me. She’d been through a lot and had a lot to work through. So, let me tell you what happiness means to me, because I finally figured the shit out.
Happiness to me means choosing my authentic self at every crossroad. It’s loving myself enough to show the world who I am unfiltered. I’m still working on it, but me is shining through and let me tell you…
She’s pretty fucking awesome.
I always told myself that I’m that caterpillar who will one day turn into a butterfly. The last few months I’ve been weaving (do they actually weave?) my cocoon. Lately I’ve been sitting inside it, quietly transforming.
I’ve learned a shit ton in the last six months. My journey to become a better person and to become a better writer, have gone hand in hand. I have this new appreciation for life like I’ve never had before. Writing, like many other things in my life, is fun again.
In my need to understand how great writers write, I turned to as many psychology books as I could get my hands on. As I began to understand myself, my fears, my desires, my dreams, and goals, I began to understand people. More importantly, I began to put that understanding to practice. I see people differently now.
I’ve found that I’m more understanding of people, less judgmental, than I was before. That doesn’t mean I have to agree with their actions, but I’m more accepting of differences. It’s so important to be culturally sensitive.
My depression and anxiety is at its all time low. Me saying that today means something, because today wasn’t high on my fun-days list. But you know what? I had a today, and I’m grateful for that. I’m grateful the Universe (which, by the way, I totally have faith in now) decided that I’m experiencing another day.
I’m finally the fucking butterfly, and I’m ready, Universe. I’m ready.