My Soft Rebellion

You thrived on my smallness and that’s so painful because I loved you dearly – but I suppose you always knew that and that’s how you got away with it.

I grew up always letting other people go first (literally). I would let people cut me in line because I didn’t want to seem assertive or aggressive. 

It always felt audacious for me to take up space. Even if that meant not getting a slice of cake or missing out on something super cool — it was okay (I didn’t even deserve it that much anyway).

Taking up space almost felt like a crime I was committing. Like I was stealing prime real estate from a soul who deserved it more than me.

It’s odd, waking up to your inherent value as a human. Because it was always there — you just discovered it late.

It’s a mixture of grief and pure red-hot anger. 

Grief because you look at all the things you missed out on. From opportunities to cool social outings — I never gave myself a front-row seat to life.

Then there’s the anger — for all of the people who saw this tendency in me and, instead of lifting me up, took advantage and used me as a stepping stool. Something to prop them up while I was still unaware of my own self-worth.

Being the popular girl’s sidekick was often my role. I was never front and centre — always something to colour the background, a quirky addition to someone else’s plot.

It was comfortable for me, making sure I was never a threat. Making sure to avoid the spotlight so that I would always be accepted.

I don’t think it’s a coincidence that the minute I began to value myself, all of my friendships fell apart. 

They were built on such an awful power dynamic — one where I gave and gave and gave, and never questioned why I got almost nothing in return. It was like I was meant to be grateful just for having people in my life.

I think the most fascinating part of all of this is how many people from my past — the same ones who took advantage of my smallness — have recently slid into my DMs.

I’ve been posting on Instagram more (I’m a Leo rising, it’s in my blood), and I’ve had so many people who are “so glad I’m doing well and would love to catch up.”

This is where the grief and anger especially begin to rise — a really great concoction, truly.

I wanted these people’s genuine love when I was vulnerable, and instead of giving it to me, they used my vulnerability as a way to make themselves feel good. When I started to take up more space, these friendships had to end. It was impossible for the people I hung out with to acknowledge I was equal to them.

Now, when they believe I can yet again bring benefit into their lives, they’ve reappeared.

I haven’t responded to a single person, mainly because I don’t know what to say.

For a second, the old me rises up and yearns for the friendship, for the community I once cherished so much — the one I was willing to sacrifice my own dignity for.

But the new me, the me who can see through the façade of niceties, goes: nice try, buddy! See ya later, sucka!

So I leave the messages as they are — a framed moment in time where someone thought I would somehow look past the past. But I can’t.

I used to be unable to let go of the past — which kept me stuck in it — but now I remember the past the same way we remember history: so that it doesn’t get repeated.

I’m sure people change — I literally have myself — but if you disrespected me when I was down, I don’t care what a good person you are now. I don’t want you in my life.

And it’s this strict boundary, this decision to go at life completely alone until I find the right people, that has made me love myself so much more.

I will always rather be alone in my own loving company than with someone who makes me feel I need to prove I’m worthy of love.

I grew up being beaten down — by my parents, by my siblings, by my peers. I always felt like the butt of a joke; I never felt like a powerful woman.

But lately, I have been feeling powerful.

It’s taken a long time — two years after moving out of my parents’ house and leaving those draining friendships behind — but it’s resulted in this blank slate.

A blank slate I am not intimidated by, but actually very excited about.

I don’t think life is meant only for other people to live anymore. I know I have the right to live and make the most of this journey just as much as anyone else.

It’s allowed me to find my voice, my style, my morals and values. It’s allowed me to build character and integrity. Everything fell away from my life, but the essence of who I am just began to shine more and more and more.

I am not afraid of my own light. 

This change happened so slowly and then all at once — because I don’t know how I woke up one day and decided the first words I say to myself everyone morning will be: “Good morning beautiful, I love you so much. Today is going to be a wonderful day, and I thank God for the opportunity to live it.”

I am a big girl now I guess, and I’m on my own side. I’m the friend I was always searching for — one that relentlessly has my back. 

This shrinking I used to perform for safety, security, and love has now fallen obsolete. I am grateful, grieving, and angry, but —

I won’t abandon myself for someone else’s love when I have a limitless supply of it on my own.