It is what it is.
I say this phrase often. However, I have never fully let myself feel the weight and transformative nature of these words until now.
I have been through some life experiences during the last two years that slowly unraveled me from the inside out. I started drinking more than usual. Because I felt everything and nothing all at once. I welcomed the feeling of drinking just enough to not get drunk but to completely numb out.
This is not me. This is not how I want to choose to spend my life. Most importantly, I don’t want to miss out on beautiful experiences with my kids. They are my number-one priority. My children will have my back no matter what — I lost sight of that for a moment.
I let some of my adult relationships and struggles get in the way of my true nature and how I want to conduct myself — not only with my children but also my partner, family, friends, and in everyday interactions with people I meet.
I isolated myself.
On the Myers-Briggs Personality Type Indicator, I am an INFJ-T – meaning it is completely in my nature to need more alone time than most. However, this isolation was not “normal,” it was destructive. I shut people out, intentionally ignoring text messages and phone calls to the point where people were demanding to get a hold of me to make sure I was doing okay. I have some mental health quirks, so when people close to me have not heard from me for days … they worry.
I stopped doing the things that help me feel whole –meditating, being creative, writing, reading,
journaling, hiking. My entire lifeline of tools I use to help me feel alive … GONE. I had absolutely no desire to do anything, ever. I felt broken, angry, violated, lost, sad … abandoned.
For two years I have not been my full, authentic self. I masked more often than I didn’t, and cried more often than I smiled.
I finally got to the point where I was unwilling to let others’ actions and beliefs take away my own peace. And I will be damned if I let this affect my relationship with my children for one more second. Because of my mental quirks, when I am sad or feeling lost, I have little to no energy to offer anyone, let alone myself. This is not the kind of mother I want to be.
Last night I told myself again … it is what it is. And truly felt it.
I cannot change what has happened. I cannot force others to understand me. No one will ever truly understand me anyhow — it’s simply not possible. Hell, half the time I don’t even understand myself.
We all live in our own created worlds, we think things that are not necessarily the whole truth, and oftentimes we struggle with our own demons. That nagging voice in our heads — the negative self-talk that undoubtedly most, if not all, of us experience at times.
I had an overwhelming sense of peace embrace me last night.
It is what it is.
I sat with this and found comfort in knowing that those five words are completely without a doubt … truth.
I am me.
That is all I can be.
Same goes for everyone else.
I feel like I have been viciously hitting my head against a brick wall these last couple years. Although at times I did feel moments of peace, it didn’t fully hit me until yesterday.
I was able to sit down and interview a local musician whom I look up to and admire for an article I am writing for a local magazine. In our conversation, she said some very profound things that opened the doors to me feeling a sense of relief.
She shared experiences from her life that were much like mine. I asked her if she had any advice to share. She responded:
“Realize that we are our own worst enemy sometimes. Pay attention to your thoughts. When your mind starts running with negative self-talk, shush it and move on.”
I know this already and practice it often — I wonder why what she said hit me so hard?
She also said, “You can cook dinner for 500 people, and there will be people who don’t like it and there will be people who love it. Let go of the negative.”
I told her I was terrified to release my book, “Confessions of a Straight Lesbian.” It’s a story about parts of my life that have helped create me into the person I am today. It’s extremely personal, raw, and telling.
“There may be people who say negative things and criticize your story. You are brave for telling it. Try your best not to bring the negative into your soul. It’s hard to put yourself out there — you are, in fact, putting your whole soul on the line.”
I felt that.
It is what it is.
I have grieved and cried. All my cards are on the table — it’s not in my nature to fold.
I’m going all in.
For myself.
For my children.
For my peace.
People are either with me or they are not. That’s not up to me.
And that is oddly comforting.
