Maybe that things are "supposed to be" a certain way is just a narrow-minded lie we believe.
Until I've recently started to question it, I've been guilty of believing it. Maybe I set my own standards (don't we all?), or maybe there are just unspoken social rules and expectations. I'm fairly certain that in my case, it's an unfortunate combination of the two.
I have this idea of myself, of the person I want to be and would like to think I am: who I'm "supposed to be". I'd like to think I'm this laid back, optimistic, happy-go-lucky, confident, roll with the punches kind of person. I want to be perceived that way, and partly because I believe that's expected of me.
As it turns out, I'm not that way, and I've been lying to myself about it.
I do this thing where I try to make myself behave or react to a situation the way I wish I would, or the way I think am expected to. Then I bottle all of my actual feelings up and try to disguise them with the wishful ones. What inevitably ends up happening is that the actual feelings--without fail--eventually make their way to the surface and rear their ugly heads; which, coincidentally, tend to be much uglier by this point than they probably would have been had they been rightly expressed in the first place.
This never ends well for me.
What's even worse is that I do this so often that it's become something of an unconscious routine. I want so badly to be this inoffensive person. To be laid back, confident, happy-go-lucky, etc. I want to fit neatly inside the box, whoever's box it is, and appeal to other people. But the box is suffocating me. I'm not sure when or where I started to feel the need to tailor myself to look and act like someone I think other people will approve of, but the reality is this:
I'm uptight.
I over-analyze everything.
I'm insecure.
I generally fall somewhere in the big middle of the optimistic-pessimistic spectrum.
I'm messy.
I have a hard time when plans change unexpectedly.
Most of the time I operate under a certain (tolerable) level of anxiety.
I have a weird sense of humor, but I love it.
I've reached the point where I'd rather just be my imperfect self than a "perfect" version of someone else. I'm a mess, and I'm broken in more than a few places, but I think that's okay with me now. I just want to let what's true about me be true and learn to love it. I want to revel in who I am and have no regrets about who I'm not. I'm not entirely sure where the standards I've been holding myself to came from, but it's exhausting trying to keep up with them.
I think I'll be my own definition of normal.
