Being Broken

When I first started this blog, I thought that Random Babble of a Broken Girl would be incredibly fitting. It never occurred to me to question my meaning of “broken”.  I mean here I was identifying as a broken girl but what did that even mean?  What was broken?

I took some time to look through my old posts and how I saw myself hit me square in the face. Although I still view myself as a broken girl, I see myself as broken in a very different way.  When I started this slow, inconsistent journey of publicly writing, I thought of myself as a “bad” person.  I thought my morale compass was broken, that my spirit was dark, and my intentions never pure.  Perhaps that was partially true; and much like a toy when the spring breaks, I was broken.  I needed to be “fixed” so to speak.

In reading my old posts, those feelings still swell in me but the impact is much different.  At one time, those overwhelming emotions would wear me down, help me justify bad decisions, help me excuse my choices – regardless of the consequences.  But over time, and without even realizing it, I’ve come to think of myself as a different type of broken. I’m no longer full of self-loathing, I no longer see my morale compass as being “broken”…skewed for sure but not broken.  I’m not broken because many of the aspects of who I am are pure, good and true.  I have learned that my differences are mine and it’s ok.  It’s ok to not always follow a straight line.  It’s ok to be me.

I have come to realize that, no matter how hard I try to not be, I am prone to guilt, I am prone to worrying about judgment, I am prone to shame, I worry about what certain people think and are going to say and ultimately I am terrified of being rejected. Basically, my self-confidence and esteem are broken.  *I* am no longer broken but rather little pieces of me are.  And maybe they’re not even so much broken as they are underdeveloped.  Maybe I’m not broken at all.  Maybe I never was.

I am struggling. I am struggling with who I am and how to define myself.  I am struggling with allowing myself to truly be me and feeling at peace with that versus worrying about what others think of me.  I struggle with opinions because I don’t have the confidence to say “fuck ‘em”.  It’s quite a dichotomy for me because as a general rule, I do as I want, when I want and how I want.  I care very little about the way some people think of me but then others I have a burning need and desire to prove wrong.  But why?  WHO CARES?

Clearly I do.

I thought that my growth was substantial in the early beginnings of this crazy journey but they weren’t.  I’ve got a helluva way to go but I’ll keep taking baby steps and those baby steps will get me to the woman I know I am. I am the woman that has wings fueled by fiery spirit, the woman that has a heart so tender it could be sliced with a feather, the woman that can harness the power of ten Sirens in one look and the woman who carries a wisdom many centuries older than her earthly age.  I will get there.  I hope you all stick with me, the journey is far from over yet.

~ From the not broken but not whole me.

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