Thanks to Facebook’s timehop feature, I was reminded of something today.
Usually it reminds me of immature things I posted 8 years ago, or dredges up that not so flattering picture I forgot to untag myself in. But today, it brought up a post of me from years ago on a happy hour cruise, talking about what a great day I had.
I remember that day. It was the day I decided to start living my life for me.
I decided I would do my best to not cater to everyone else’s whims. To take care of my mental health and listen to my body and my heart. To do things by myself. To really reflect and learn the intricacies of who I was. To date who I wanted, how I wanted, when I wanted. To embrace my sexuality. To let my true friends actually support me. To ask for help, to strive for my goals, to take every opportunity to do new things, to BE ME.
Since then I’ve discovered more about myself (my wants, needs, ideologies, personality, and hell, my body) than I even thought possible. I’ve traveled, fulfilled fantasies, accepted my sexuality, learned some new skills, had quite a few jobs, gotten married and divorced (amen? amen!), gained some good ol’ curves, dated and broken up, pretty much found my soul mates, reconnected with old friends, distanced myself from some who didn’t add to my life, gained some pretty awesome chosen family, ate ALL the things, petted ALL the puppers, and did my best to live my life to the fullest. It’s been difficult. It’s been fun. It’s been downright amazing.
And I’m not going to stop.