I spent half of my life trying to be someone else. I talked like they talked. I dressed in their clothes. I did the same drugs. I tried to xerox my way to happiness.
Every strategy was about change instead of acceptance. None worked. I was still me and I still never felt like enough.
The best advice anyone ever gave me was to sit down and shut up, to be quiet long enough to see beyond my thoughts and feelings. I was desperate so I listened. And listened. All I heard was a roaring in my head. How could listening to this chaos bring me peace?
It got better. It got worse. To this day I never know what meditation will bring. I do know that life is different. I do know that I’m actually OK today.
Something terrible was always chasing me. I ran from it, numbed it, drowned it. It always grew stronger.
When I finally stopped, defeated, what walked in wasn’t a terrible creature, but my wounded self gone feral. I was running from a monster that only needed my love.