I’ve been doing a lot of thinking and reflecting the last week or so, especially about the last year.
A lot of people sum up their years with a word. If I had to sum up last year with one word, it would be Survival.
And you know what?
Just surviving sucks. It sucks a big bag of dicks and I don’t want to survive anymore I want to LIVE. I tried survival out for a year and it didn’t fucking work for me. If anything it nearly killed me.
Last year I spent so much time trying to cram myself into other people’s boxes (NOT LIKE THAT!), I spent so much time trying to be what I was ‘supposed to be’, what I’m ‘supposed to do’ – because that’s how ‘successful normal people do things’. I spent so much time trying to dim my own light or fall in line, so much time trying not to rock boats and keep the sand steady for other people.
It got me nowhere. I start this year with no writing under my belt from last year, with no job and with a sense of self that was at breaking point.
The thing is, neurodivergence or not, I am different. My brain is wired different and I don’t fit in, I never have. I’m the awkward present that’s difficult to wrap and, actually, that’s the fucking best. It’s where I do my best work, it’s when I’m my best self. I’m a weirdo, a rebel, a freak, I’m the weirdo with 5 colours in her hair. I question rules and rock boats and disturb the constructed social status quos.
I’m so mad at myself because time and again I’ve been shown that I’m most successful when I’m trusting my gut, when I’m doing me, when I’m using my heart as the marker for success.
There’s so much more to this, so much more to explore and shout about, but there’s no room.
All there’s really left to say is; I tried on normal for a year. I tried squeezing in boxes for a year.
I’m going back to the freedom I’ve always felt. No more clipping wings.