Identity...

Who was I supposed to be? I still have no idea, really.  

I thought my home was happy. 

I thought love was just tricky and came with terms and conditions. Especially when it comes to family. They only want the best for you after all, right?

I thought her happiness was my priority. 

Fixing her pain, fixing her relationships, fixing her with a hug, a perfectly brewed cup of coffee exactly how she likes it that week, or a homemade present, because nothing that could be bought was good enough. 

Fixing her by making myself into nothing, and her into everything. 

They assumed no matter what they would keep my heart, and my loyalty.  They assumed I didn't have a backbone, or any opinions of my own. Just their sweet little puppet, who never strayed from her strings, and always kept everyone else in line with honeyed words, endless understanding, and a kind voice. The one who held all the bridges together while everyone else watched them burn.

They made excuses for my pain without feeling it themselves, telling me I was just being lazy and that I wouldn't get better if I didn't push myself and build up my strength. - But how do you do that when some days every step feels like hell, and every time you try to voice it you are told you're just trying to get out of things you don't like to do?

How do you find it in yourself to say you can't, to say ‘No’ to things that cause more pain, when the person who should have believed you above all others is telling you you are mistaken, and it's all in your head? 

How do you believe your own thoughts, feelings, intuition, when you have spent every moment of your life being told you are wrong, or confused?

How do you learn to rebuild yourself, when you never had a foundation of your own to stand on in the first place?

I can't say I was stripped of my identity, because I never had one of my own to start.  I was her shadow, her friend, her therapist, her constant companion, her Golden Daughter who could anticipate her needs before she even had them. The child who never swayed from her purpose, who never questioned, because how could you question someone who was so sure?  How do you question the person who already has all the answers, especially when that person is the sole reason you even exist?

I may be out now, but I still don't know who I am. 

I'm finding myself day by day, little bits and pieces scattered across the globe, little shattered echoes of the person I was supposed to be, slowly giving me an image of what reality could have been had I been given the chance. Some days, it feels like the puzzle is almost complete. I can almost see the picture and fill in the blanks. But the rest of the time it feels like that puzzle is made of a million pieces from a million different pictures, while I sit on the floor trying to sort my own from everything else. 

I still hear her voice when I least expect it. I still hear her comments with every choice I make and feel her eyes on my skin when I make a mistake, hiding her judgement at my lack of perfection behind a façade of motherly love. 

I still hear her keys hit against her hip with every step, telling me where she is. Her steps coming down the hall, closer and closer, while I scramble to make myself look productive and peaceful all at once.  I still feel the nearly overwhelming fear when I am caught daring to relax, every cell in my body screaming out, ready to be told that I am lazy, and should be doing something productive with my time. 

I panic when I wake up in the morning, not knowing what mood I should try to prepare myself for, and what identity I should put on that day, to best keep the peace. 

It's been seven years since I left that home, five since I learned to question, and three since I said I will take no more.

I know it will take even longer to unlearn my own existence, and rewrite it for myself, but at least this time I will know it's entirely mine, and I will make sure that no matter how long it takes, it will always remain that way.

~Mika W.