I Haven't Been Myself In A Long Time And Maybe That's a Good Thing

I am currently goo. 

I’m in the goo phase. The phase where the caterpillar becomes goo before the butterfly (thanks to one of my dearest friends for bringing this up from another blog). I am becoming something new.

A glimmer of my former self appeared a few weeks ago. In a moment of joy and connection, my former self was there. I could feel her in my veins, familiar and comforting, flowing through me with ease. A sort of electricity I’d missed. The confidence to let my wit run wild. The faith to be honest and actually say what I am thinking, how I feel.

And then she was gone.

A few years ago, I was at my lowest, living in a place I loved that had rejected me. I didn’t see yet this place was revealing to me how much I didn’t belong. I was killing myself trying to fit in a box and that box turned out to be full of sharp pins, poking me every time I tried to shift and shove myself inside it. My confidence was shattered over and over again until it finally crumbled into dust. The sensations of that time still flicker inside me like a dying ember. It is far less now than it was. I don’t freeze and feel ill when I think of it. I’ve recovered and healed.

I returned here, my home, and found another box: my former self. This was more of an old coat that didn’t fit quite right anymore. It was comforting and mine but not the same. I had to rebuild what was broken and I couldn’t ignore the last few years of my life as much as I wanted to. I couldn’t be the same because I wasn’t the same. I often found myself incredibly sad because I didn’t understand why I didn’t feel like myself. I was trying to be myself so why didn’t it fit?

I then realized it will never fit. It can’t, not anymore.

The bones of my former self are there but she is so battered and bruised, I have to let her go. I can’t force her back because she won’t come. I have to move on, not without her but with her in mind.

Part of it is wrong. Like, how dare I forget who I was? I loved her, I was her, I want her back. I wanted to save her, pull her out from the depths of depression and toxic environments. I hated seeing her like this, this girl I was and worked so hard to be.

Like a caterpillar, she is ready to dissolve and reform. I see that now. This is a new phase moreso than a new chapter. Something I haven’t been before.

It feels unseen. The struggle and the growth. It is uncomfortable and messy. I probably look the same to everyone. Or maybe I don’t. Maybe those closest to me see it. The changes and the shifts within me. Perhaps they see the light returning. The ease in which I laugh and make jokes. The more relaxed I am and less concerned about what people think or if someone hangs out without me.

I don’t know who I am turning into yet. I am part old and part new. Sensitive and bold. I cry at everything now. Like I am an open wound and even the quickest breath sets me off. Motherhood has opened me up in a way I never knew possible. Every Broadway show I’ve seen this season, I’ve openly wept. I let myself feel it and sob unabashedly. I cry at every television show at the smallest moments. Massive chest sobs and endless tears. And I love it. It feels fucking good to feel. I think I was numb for a long time. Now I can’t be because I have this tiny person I love so insanely much that I feel it all.

I’m less scared now than I used to be. Those who have been through horrors know and are less afraid. We see how quickly it can change. Like some sort of clairvoyant who has visualized Death. While I didn’t quite see Death, something in my brain triggered when my blood pressure dropped and darkness crept into my vision during labor. An odd out of body experience of “Is this what it feels like?” Then I was fixed and alive with two heartbeats on the monitor. Two when I know what it is like to suddenly hear one.

Admitting I wanted to be a writer and get this current book I am working on out into the world propelled me forward. I stopped clinging to the idea that everyone expected me to be an actress and if I wasn’t, then I failed. The funny part, as the truth so often is, everyone is so unsurprised when I say I want this to work out, that this is my new dream. They look at me and say ‘Duh’. I don’t know why that reaction was so unexpected to me. Now I see it as affirmation.

I still struggle with my new body and limitations. I write about that often. I know that part needs work that I have yet to give it. I do fear that work. I know it’ll be hard and I skirt around it. Eventually I’ll cave and do it. I’ll get that courage. For now, I am working on the other new parts. It really feels like a plant growing. I do like when my analogies work out.

I have a very long way to go on an unclear path. I have to laugh how much Robert Frost’s poem is relevant here. One of my favorite pieces I’ve loved since childhood. Taking the road less traveled by. I can’t take the one I already went down. If I keep trying to wear an old skin, I’ll never be content. Moments are there where I can see her: my future self. Maybe its turning 40 in a few days. Maybe its not giving a fuck anymore. Maybe it is that I love my life, my people.

I am the goo. Goo with cells of my old self that are out of commission. Present but quiet, resting.

Gone.

The old me never moved on. She couldn’t.

I can.