Random Musings

It’s been way too long that I wrote for myself. Yes I do write daily, my livelihood depends on it but I don’t remember last time I wrote to feed my soul and narrate my story. I used to write as soon as inspiration hit. But nowadays, inspiration hits me when I am in the middle of a diaper change or going through a mundane house chore. I, very casually, tell everyone who listens that I am very comfortable in the place I am now. That I have all the help I need. And that I am doing a decent enough job of cruising through and managing everything.

Truth be told, I am doing a mediocre job at best.

Yes, I have help. And yes, it may seem like I do have it all together beautifully.

But today, It’s been a day.

I am sitting on the dining table, all by myself, finally having gotten the two kids to sleep. I started putting them to sleep at 8 pm but they kept waking up in turns and here I am, contemplating life as I know it at 10.30 pm in the night. Right opposite me is my silverware ‘closet’ and my full, tired reflection stares right back at me. I am blown that I have aged over a decade in the last year. People, too, find it amusing to point out that all my hair is now grey and that I have age lines on my face. I also have the gait of an over-exhausted mom, I’ve been told. I seriously don’t know what that means but I agree with their premise that exhaustion has got to me. And none of it is physical exhaustion. Or maybe, it is a little. I am a failure in my head with nothing to show for the 33 years I’ve lived.
Sure, I got married.
Yes, I have two amazing children.

But what is my legacy?

When people talk about me, what do they say? What is it that they refer to me as? What phrases would they attribute to me?

Cute. Chubby. Fat.

I got the best one told to me once. Big. My legacy is that I am big. Everything talked about me is related to my physical looks. Kid you not, well-meaning relatives have told me that they usually lose track of what I do professionally because how I look takes precedence over everything else.

And they have proceeded to make me feel like shit when I called them shallow. You cannot afford to have an attitude like this, they said. Be nice, be kind, that will make you likeable, they said. Because, subtext. Being physically obese was not a very welcoming trait. I still believe this though. This is etched in my head so deep, so hard that it refuses to shake off.

To me, being nice became my mantra. I was the ultimate people-pleaser. You wanted something done, I’m there for you. Need a helping hand? Bring it on. Looking for a scapegoat to take blame for your misdoings because ultimately they only seek your approval and company. That’s me! I was the nicest fucking person there ever could be. If, by any means, I miscommunicated something, I would go to crazy lengths to make sure I set it right. It was that obsessive. And this went on well into the first quarter of my life. So desperate for attention, so needy for any acceptance, I would morph into my surroundings like a chameleon. I hung out with teachers twice my age, I also hung out with students half a decade younger than me. All at the same time. I became friends with people’s toxic exes because I wanted to be the one who was liked by all.

Looking back, I feel sad. I feel sad for that little girl who was shamed for being big and alone. And shamed into changing her personality so drastically that she eventually forgot who she was.

Here I am now. A mother of two kids. A wife. A daughter. A daughter in law. An employee. A friend.

But I still don’t know who I am.

I still don’t know what I want my legacy to be.

Here I am now, breaking down toxicity around me and making space for people I love. It’s a hard job, to pick the real ones out of the crowd. To make space in my heart and head to accomodate things I am passionate about and not just fill it with things that are fashionably likeable at the moment. If you have any idea how hard it is to undo years to conditioning and neglect and near-trauma to get to a point where acceptance becomes you, then you will know what I am talking about. It is not the episode you have been through, its the lessons and experiences that you carried with you after that have to come undone.

Here I am now, staring at my reflection. The coffee in my hand has become cold now because I am seeking catharsis in words. And I hope it comes to me as effortlessly as the shame came to me all these years.

It is thanks to this shame and loathe that I have been unable to click pictures of myself. This series of pictures I took on my phone today are me at my lowest, but these are also proof that I am trying to shatter the limiting beliefs set for me as much as possible. It’s just that, healing is not linear.

And today, it’s been that kind of a day!