I’m Wounded

Dear Universe,

I’m writing this at 5:04 in the morning a) because it’s already light outside and I don’t have curtains in my room yet to keep it dark enough to stay asleep and b) because the thoughts don’t sleep.

I’ve been thinking about my personal development journey, particularly around my wounds and my healing. Of course there is a lot of other healing going on after the affair and divorce, but I think all of that is only highlighting some deeper patterns that have been going on for… ever.

I think I have struggled my whole life with being truly myself. I’ve always been afraid of being too much – too weird, too sensitive, too alternative, too impractical – just all around too different.

And I’ve coped with that – unknowingly – by bending myself trying to fit in with other people. Locking myself down. Making choices and following paths that were conventional. Meeting others’ expectations. Masking.

And then I up and moved to another country. Which was scary and freeing and the first truly rebelliously right thing I’ve ever done for myself.

Little did I know at that time that the country I was moving to had its own highly engrained culture of conformity, status quo, and expected normalcy. Somehow I didn’t realize that being an immigrant in such a foreign country was going to make me feel more different and out of place…

Which probably also came to play a role in my marriage. Or, maybe it did – the cultural differences. Or maybe it was just me. Whatever the reason, I always felt incredibly criticized in my marriage for being different. For being me.

There were absolutely good times and love and everything in our decade together, but after a while I started feeling like I – the person I truly am – was not truly loved or accepted. I was tolerated.

And that feeling made me do something I never should have – I tried harder to be loved. Which ultimately just made me abandon myself even more and push him unwillingly right into addressing his own wounds (or rather, running away from them).

But the pattern underneath all of this I can see now, Universe? The wound of feeling like I am too weird, and therefore unlovable. Like I’ll never fit in or be accepted if I show my true self.

Because yeah – having my husband leave me for another woman ripped that shit right open. I can’t not address it anymore.

Which is why I’m writing now, Universe. I don’t want to hide who I am anymore. These words are the truest me there is.

Maybe I actually don’t care about fitting in. I care about belonging with the people who see me and like me anyway. The ones who read me and think “that girl belongs in an asylum” – just not my people. And that’s OK.

I’m done fighting to be lovable, Universe. I’m leaning into the trust that I already am.

I know it’s not as easy as just seeing the wound. It’s old and deep – it isn’t just going to go away after a few letters to you. But I’m not just slapping a bandaid on it anymore. I’m sewing that shit up stitch by stitch.

Please give me the strength and dexterity to wield the needle, Universe. Help my wound close completely, and let the scar remind me forever of what it means to heal.

XO – Bailee