Who is me?

I've always been a fan of those mantras that encourage one to "Be Yourself" or announce "You are exactly the person you were meant to be!".  It sounds so lovely, the idea that one could just be.  Nothing about the person is wrong or needs changing, and the person could simply exist in his or her own skin, as is.  That's always seemed an unreachable peace.

I've never been okay with being me.  I have never been enough.  I was never good enough, perfect enough, smart enough, friendly enough, or sweet enough.  I was too fat, too shy, too screwed up, and too unlovable.  I would never measure up in so many areas of life that I deemed necessary to reach in order to love myself or "be myself."  I would have to fix all the characteristics of me that were so very wrong before I could be comfortable in my own skin.  It was an insurmountable list of "to dos".  


I've come to a realization recently that has changed my life.  It really is okay to just be me.  I have taken the word "enough" out of my vocabulary.  I no longer consider whether I am thin enough, lost enough weight, am quiet enough, am outspoken enough, or am spiritual enough. 

I have told myself to stop worrying about whether someone who knows me and regards me favorably will read something I've written on this blog about what I think or how I am and lose respect or, (gasp), even think poorly of me.  I've told myself that the aspects of my personality and character and physical and biological makeup that I once considered imperfections or even defections are no longer to be criticized. I've come to realize that I really am what I am.  And it's okay. 

When I consider the distorted thinking I sometimes have, it can make me laugh.  It can also be startlingly alarming, when I realize how much of my life I have spent trying to measure up.  What was it that made me feel so little in the first place?  I don't know.  I am still working on the path to that discovery.  But I am slowly realizing that the peace that comes with self-acceptance is a peace I've never had until now.  And though I have not fully embraced self- acceptance, I'm gradually getting there, bit by bit, piece by piece. 

What a relief it is to just be.  To know that today I don't have to perform gymnastic feats and act my way through the day.  I don't have to come home exhausted from the performance I've put on for others.  I don't have to project this image of always being perfect, always having the right answer, always trying to stay one step ahead.  I can say I don't know.  I can make a mistake and not be a mistake.  I can be worth more than a number on the scale.  I can throw up my hands and say I just don't know.  


I truly believe that this realization is one of the keys to happiness.  I can never be happy if I am always saying to myself, "See, you can't do it.  You aren't capable of being that pretty/smart/well-liked.  Why did you even try?"  It's not possible to be all the things I thought I had to be, but I already am who I was meant to be.  Perfectly imperfect.  


This doesn't mean I wake up every day filled to the brim with content and harmony.  It doesn't mean I look in the mirror and love myself each time.  It does mean I am gradually putting together the pieces of this puzzle called "Life".  This piece was a biggy, too.  It gives me permission to relax a little.  Another little surrender.  

Most importantly, it gives me a chance to explore who I really am.  I spent so many years trying to measure up to others or impossible standards.  I lost sight of what I was even interested in and what I enjoyed.  I don't know how to have fun.  I don't know what Roxann even finds fun.  I've been introduced to Roxann again after a long absence, and I'm having to figure out what she's all about.  It's scary, but it's exciting, too.  I don't get to reinvent myself.  I get to discover myself.  Those little discoveries bring me happiness.  


I sat at my bipolar support group meeting Tuesday night talking to someone about how I felt about the label "Bipolar" when I was diagnosed.  I had hated it.  I couldn't possibly be bipolar.  It didn't fit into my definition of who or what I should be.  It meant something was wrong with me.  Here I sat on Tuesday, openly admitting to someone I barely knew, that I was bipolar.  I wasn't ashamed of it.  I didn't cast my eyes to the floor as I said it, or search her face looking for a reaction to the statement.  I offered someone else reassurance and understanding about the fear and incense at being labeled with such an offensive term.  I had made some personal progress.  


Two weeks ago the local television station called and wanted to interview me about the support group.  And they wanted me to talk about my own battle with bipolar disorder.  At first I panicked.  No way could I go on television and admit I was struggling with such a serious mental illness!  What would people think about me?  And yet, I knew I had to.  If I didn't, I was doing a disservice to myself and to every other person labeled bipolar.  Even when I won't do something for my own good, I'll usually do it to benefit others.  So I told myself, "If you can't do this for you, you can do it for the other people that need to know there's someone out there who cares."  

Lo and behold, the earth didn't shatter minutes after my interview, nor minutes after the interview aired.  The phone didn't ring with harassing callers.  None of my family or friends wrote or called and responded with dismay that I had let my secret out in public.  Yes, I thought about potential employers or even parents of students I may have or had, and what that might do to my teaching career.  I decided it was worth the risk.  Because bipolar disorder is just part of what makes me, me.  Maybe it makes me depressed sometimes, and maybe it makes me lose sleep many nights.  But perhaps it also allows me to reach out to the world in ways I couldn't without it.  Maybe it will help me educate others in a way I never dreamed would unfold when I pursued a Masters in Education.  Maybe it really isn't as big a deal as I once thought it was.  


One great aspect of a life well lived is that we continually grow and out of that personal growth sprout the seeds of happiness.  The growth is essential for happiness.  This year has been a year of a great deal of growth for me, and thus, I am beginning to reap the rewards of happiness in little ways.  And that's what it's all about.  Happiness is not some distant finish line we cross eventually.  It's not a race.  We find it in our own time and in our own ways through our own growth.  For me, the decision to allow myself to be me, and to figure out who me even is, definitely offers me reasons to be happy.