ramblings, washington whimsy

the moment I realized I wasn’t normal 


I don’t really know at what point in my life I realized there was a difference between being normal and being not normal. There was a moment though, I think maybe, in the season of my life that I was made fun of for my voice and I realized people were mean, that I distinctly got the impression that something about me didn’t fit-I wasn’t normal. I wasn’t going to be the one picked or chosen or wanted.

A memory came to me tonight, very strongly, so I called my mom to ask her about it. I was young, maybe 8 or 9, and I had written my Grandma Reeve, who lived in Kansas, a card about not being normal. I remember the feeling I had when I had the epiphany, but I can’t place the why. Then, in return, my grandma had written back that she was my “not-normal” grandma.

I haven’t thought about that moment in years. But tonight my (exhausted) train of thought led me to that memory. And the moment in what I feel like every person life when they stumble upon the “us vs. them” and that begins to shape how they view themselves. 

It took me a long time to move away from the normal vs. not normal. A lot of heartache in my life and loneliness came from this place of feeling as if I don’t fit, feeling like I am not worth it. Like I don’t deserve it, whatever it may be.

I can be a pretty insecure human. I mostly have long stretches of wholeness with a smattering of rain clouds in them. I’m more secure than I was 10 years ago and I’m sure I will be more secure in 10 more. But, when it hits it hits.

And I think I wanted to write this in a place when it wasn’t hitting that hard.

I’m a firm believer that if you want to rock an outfit and you feel comfortable in it then go head and rock the damn outfit. If you have the confidence and belief in yourself to do something then do it. 

80% of the time I actually don’t care what people think. And that is a far cry from the teenager and twenty something who tiptoed around with the firm belief that she was too much and that people would run. 

It’s a far cry from the tiny human who didn’t believe she would ever fit in the box that is normal. 

This collection of words isn’t to define normal, because that’s way to cliche for me.

It’s a reminder that even in being who we are the little things can still sneak up and bite us. It’s a reminder that at some point in your life you reached a fork in the road that was us vs them and it shaped some part of you whether you know it or not.

My fork was normal vs. not normal. Those were my boxes for so long. So, when I have insecurity, when I feel not enough or more often feel too much, when I don’t feel wanted or needed, when my response is to run, I need to remember that little girl who didn’t feel normal. I need to remember what I’ve come from, what I’ve done and who is around me.  

So, as I start a new week, as I attempt to the best of my ability to show up for my life each day, I want to continue obliterating that thought process in my life. I want to remember that little girl who didn’t think she was normal. I want to hug her and tell her she was exactly the tiny human she needed to be. I want to tell her that it won’t get better, but it will get more whole. 

And I want to remind her to be kind to herself.

This week I need to go back to remembering that very thing.

Be kind this week, first to yourself and then onward.

Honest

You can call me Meghan if you want.

I go by Meg for the most part these days. Anyone that has met me in the last three years knows me as Meg, so for the most part I get called Meg (or teacher meeegggggg).
Today, I was in the grocery store and I heard “Hey Meghan!” and I quickly looked up. It was weird the knee jerk reaction that I don’t always have. I’m around other Meghan’s so I usually don’t respond. The person who said hi was thankfully someone I knew–a friend from high school who also randomly lives up here. I said hi and smiled and continued on.

Tonight, after taking all afternoon to clean and rearrange my room for something fresh, I sat here typing and deleting and typing more and deleting more.

Nothing fit, nothing flowed.

Because I get frustrated with rehashing old wounds, old dilemmas, old thoughts.

Because we are 3 weeks out of 2016 and I am working so hard to be hopeful and find truth for myself.

I am desperately desiring there to be no spillover.

I was called Meghan for the first 27 years of my life. I was rarely called anything different (except Moses but that’s another story). I still am called Meghan by anyone who knew me before 2013. 

I started being called Meg solely because it was what my name on Facebook was when I went on the world race. And it just kind of stuck. It’s followed me ever since. And I like it. It marks multiple things. People who still call me Meghan are those who have been with me. Those who have stuck by me and I them. People who call me Meg either walked with me through the transformation or are currently still growing with me.

It’s a beautiful bookmark.

But today?

Hearing Meghan caused me to feel a lot of things.

I felt ugly.

I felt spillover.

I felt silenced by anxiety that probably wasn’t even mine.

I don’t like to deal with things I’ve already dealt with.

I’m currently in a battle with still typing versus deleted the 350 words currently on the page.

But I’m not.

Why?

Because there are a lot of things and feelings and issues all around us that are causing a lot of stuff in the atmosphere. It’s stuffing the air with fear and anxiety and that’s not what I want my air filled with.

Part of being kind to myself this year is to attempt rid myself of things bottled up inside. Be it to friends, or to some blank pages or even to this blog. 

I have hidden anxieties and parts of my story still drenched in shame that I want to lay to rest this year. I truly believe they are covering beautiful parts of myself I don’t even realize exist.

I think part of being kind to ourselves is coming to terms with, coming to grips with, and coming face to face with things we still deem ugly. 

None of those ugly things are your identity. Yes, they might have strengthened part of who you are but they aren’t you. We are not what we lack. We are the lovely parts. We are the strengths which are beautified by what we deem as weakness.

I’m going to attempt to detoxify myself of things I deem ugly, in an attempt to realize how much more beautiful they have made me.

Bottom line: Let’s be kind to our stories my friends.