Do you ever feel like you forget who you are? Like there are
so many different things smothering you for time and attention that you slowly
lose yourself. You can see pieces of you slowly leaking out and away but
there’s nothing you can do to stop the continuous draining. Until it feels like nothing is left.
I’ve been feeling like this lately. Probably because of my anxiety-ridden
licensure exam coming up in 3 weeks. But for many other reasons as well, I’m
sure. I do know the main reason I feel like I’m losing myself, unsure if I’ll
ever get those pieces back, but I’m not quite ready to talk about that just
yet. It’s coming though. It’s the main reason I haven’t written anything in 7
months.
Did I mention I’m sorry about that? Not only for those few
of you who care about what I write. But also because I’ve had plenty of ideas
to write during my hiatus, but I didn’t record them anywhere, so now they are
lost to me. And that’s sad. And so I am sorry.
But really. 2012 was a very hard year for me. I am so
relieved it’s over. And desperately hoping 2013 is better.
So…
What do you do when you feel like you’re losing everything
that makes you, well, you? It’s an incredibly unsettling feeling. Especially
when you’re trying to become a therapist and help others only to realize that
you need so much help yourself. That’s okay though, right? I’m allowed to be
human, too, aren’t I? Sometimes I need that reminder. That permission to be
fallible. To make mistakes. To feel those emotions I help my clients deal with.
But still… it’s hard to give yourself that permission. Especially when you
really haven’t given yourself permission for much, ever, which is my
unfortunate tendency.
The only thing I can think of right now is hold onto the
pieces of myself that are still there. That I can identify. That feel real. And
true. That make me happy, despite everything. And since discoveries, especially of the self- variety, are what I really
like to share here, this is what I have come up with so far. This I know about
me - myself - Rachel.
1. Maxi skirts. Who knew that such a simple article of
clothing could come to feel so right to me? I feel so comfortable in them. So
free.
I really hate clothes. Especially when they constrict. And I
especially hate pants. I made it all summer with only wearing jeans once. To
me, that is a beautiful thing. My discovery of maxi skirts helped free me, once
again, and in another way, from society’s expectations for me. Or my perception
of society’s expectations. Whatever.
I hope to one day have my wardrobe full of maxi skirts. Other
skirts are nice too. And maybe someday I’ll break down and get some leggings to
go with my boots. Cause I sure feel great in boots too. I think that if you had
to define yourself in terms of clothing, I would be a maxi skirt. Comfortable.
Free. But classy. And flowy. Cause what better word to describe yourself is
there than flowy?
2. My hands. And how I adorn them.
For some reason, I am at peace with my hands lately. I bite
and tear at my nails incessantly. I’ve tried to stop. I can’t. I don’t really
care to anymore. I have owned my short, sometimes jagged nails. They like to be
painted fun colors, but have been sad because I’ve been to busy, or lazy, or
both, to give them the color they like. Sorry nails. I’ll try to do better.
I’ve not worn rings since I was pretty young, except for a CTR
ring. Until I lost my CTR ring and the others I had didn’t fit comfortably. I
always wanted to wear rings more, but I got my dad’s hands and my fingers are
just thick. Which makes it very hard to find a ring that actually fits and
looks good.
Then.
This summer at West Yellowstone I found the ring. The one
ring that actually flattered my fingers. And excited my eyes. And brought a
smile to my face. It was a big turquoise stone with the most beautiful veining.
And a small-ish silver band. I can’t do just small bands because then my finger
looks huge. But a small band with a large stone on it? Oh yes. Yes, that I can
do. And I have loved it ever since.
Then.
I finally got my eagerly, and not-so-patiently waited upon
ring from my beautiful Grandma. She collects them. And got enough for all her
granddaughters to have one of her rings. My sisters and I were among the last
to receive ours, but only because we live so far away. We semi-hesitantly
trusted Mom to pick our rings for us when she was on a trip to Utah. She called
me to discuss the options, but I had to go off descriptions because her phone
is ultra-ghetto and won’t send or receive pictures. I was unsure how they
looked, and nervous that the picks for the 3 of us would not quite suit us. Finally
it came. And suit me it did! Large smoky
quartz stone in a beautiful antique-esque silver band. I fell in love with it
the moment I saw it. Sarah and Becca’s were beautiful, too. Geez, my grandma
has exquisite taste in rings. I hope to glean more of her ring knowledge from
her this summer. Because this is knowledge I need. Desperately. One of these
two rings is on my finger every day. Except when I forget them and upon
realizing my mistake, curse myself and feel naked and so un-Rach-like all day
long.
I have also recently added a charm bracelet to my left
wrist. It was also bare since I lost my CTR ring in March, 2011. I had the most
perfect watch that I would put the ring on for safe keeping when I wasn’t
wearing them. Well, the gremlins in my mom’s van stole them after my MFT
interview at UHCL. I hate those gremlins. No matter the searching I did, I
never found any watch, or other decoration, that accurately said “I am you. I
make you more yourself. You need me. Right there, on your left wrist.” And so
it’s been naked. And alone. And sad.
Then.
James Avery had a sale on their new bracelets. Buy two
charms, get a bracelet for free. Sign me up, I declared! I looked at the charms
for probably an hour. Because picking a charm is no light business for me.
Especially the first charms. Finally I found the ones that not only called for
me, but fit within my poor-grad-student budget.
A music note. Because few things affect me like music does.
My dream life is still playing French Horn in the pit of broadway musicals.
Please, if you ever see a charm with a French Horn, get it for me. I’ll pay you
back. You know how most people, especially girls, always have something on
their minds that they are thinking about and planning? That doesn’t happen for
me. When I don’t have something I’m actively thinking about, I have music
playing in my head. It’s completely unconscious. And completely beautiful.
Also, a dove. This was a more abstract pick. I wanted
something for my chosen-if-not-exactly-dreamed-of profession. A marriage
therapist. But what would a charm for that look like, exactly? A couch? No. So
I thought about what my purpose would be in that profession. To help
people. To pull marriages up through the
muck of pain they’ve been slopping through. Or. To give hope. To give peace.
Which is what a dove represents, after all. (Not to mention the religious
significance of a dove, which is also important to me).
I have two more charms ready to be added. My best friends
forever half-heart that fits together with my
thank-goodness-she’s-still-around-and-loves-me-cause-I-love-her-so-much best friend,
Malorie Leyva, given to us by her mother at my graduation. And my Texas heart
charm. Because my heart is always in Texas. And Sarah is getting me a nativity
charm soon, which yes, will be on the bracelet year round, because what more
could I want than a constant reminder of Christmas and that amazing and dear little Baby
who saved me?
3. Reading. Oh, reading.
I am consumed by it. In a wonderful, coming-alive sort of
way. All my worries slip away as the story weaves through me, lifting me to
something higher. I am changed, yes, but in all the right ways, by the books I
read. I think more critically, feel more deeply, desire more strongly because
of being swept away to new places. Places I could never explore if not led by
the hand by these authors with the most beautiful gift of words. I find myself
in those pages. In those words, between those lines and through those experiences
of characters so different from myself.
And what have I found?
A desire. A desire that has always been there, but never
came out into the light for me to really see and examine. It was there, but out
of focus and blurred differently each day. But it has stepped out into the light.
I’ve seen it, felt it, studied it. And now this I know:
I want to be a writer. An author. I want to lead people by
the hand, as I have been led so many times before, and take people where they
could never go without my help. Into the recesses of my music-filled mind. Into
the nooks and crannies, shadowed corners and vaulted ceilings of my
imagination. I haven’t even really been there myself, but I want to go. I want
to make a record of my journey and share it with others. For no other purpose
than enjoyment. Fun. Hope. Peace. For me and for them.
And can I share a secret? I’m terrified. This desire (which
was brought into the light by Veronica Roth and Divergent, by the way,) scares
me to the core. I don’t know how to write a novel. I’ve never written more than
25 pages in one work. I’ve never written more than what has been required me by
my professors. Never once have I written creatively, with the exception of my
blog. But that is all based on life experiences, not pulling a story out of
nothing. I only ever took one literature class, which I loved, but wasn’t even
in the genre I plan to write in. I don’t know the first thing about any of this
writing business. AND I’m about to get a degree in therapy!
And somehow I have the audacity to think that I can do this.
That I can (with plenty of practice, mind you – I don’t expect this to come
easy or naturally) write a story that other people would be interested in,
maybe even pay money for. I partly think I must be having delusions of
grandeur, because this desire seems so unlikely, so impossible.
But I want it. I want to write. And read, because every
writer knows you have to read at least as much as you write. Maybe I won’t ever
get published. Maybe I won’t ever get past a short story. Maybe the only people
to read it will be myself and those few friends I trust to share in the
intimacy that comes with writing from the heart. But I want to do it. I want to
try.
I don’t really know how to work this out with school and
licensure and a profession looming. But I’ll figure out a way. Because somehow,
I feel like the only way to find myself again, after losing so much, is to
write.
And read.
And so that is what I plan on doing.
Love,
Rach
And thanks for patiently waiting for me to get my act
together. I do hope I can do better in the future. J
(What is your favorite piece of clothing that makes you feel
you? What are your accessories that
scream at you that they belong with you, on you?)
(And for the love of all that is holy, AM I CRAZY? Those of
you who have read my writing, is this possible? I need some encouragement cause
like I said, I’m awful scared.)
