Some birds aren't meant to be caged
Facebook memories brought up a post from another lifetime (AKA 2014):
No matter how much I mess up, and no matter how much I let others down, I just don't have it in me to hate myself. And that's really all I've got. Is that enough?
Over the years I've asked myself how I managed it (and why I posted things like this on Facebook in the first place, ugh). I lacked self-respect, no doubt... and self-esteem in some regards, too...
Self-hatred, though? Maybe I'm deluding myself, but I don't think so.
No one could make me shrink away from doing what I loved. No one could make me question my identity as a writer and convince me to steer away from the stories I needed to tell. No one could make me feel more or feel less just by listing all the reasons why I wasn't reacting properly to whatever had just unfolded. No one could turn me into someone I wasn't.
Instead of changing myself, I learned to tense up and hide and be small while indulging in safe spaces (usually online) anytime I could. I learned to put up walls that fortified a home I could go in and out of as needed. These walls don't need to be broken down, now or ever; I'll give you the key if I don't think you'll give me a reason to call my trusted locksmith. Yes, I've had to change the locks many times over the years. But at least I can say that I gave people chances, and I'm still open to doing so.
I am maybe a disappointment as often as I am a daughter, a wife, a friend, a colleague. So be it. Self-hatred would reign if I tried not to be a disappointment to anyone at all times. I can only be true to myself and hope that people will choose to love me despite this... or, if I'm exceptionally lucky, because of this.
All these years later and I have no space left to dedicate to guilt or incessant apologies. Some birds aren't meant to be caged.