My silence has lately been mistaken for acceptance and blind obedience. In essence, I’m direct. I’m honest. I’m unafraid to stand up for someone in need—but I suppose by the time I had to defend myself, I was spent, and tangled—utterly undone—and utterly convinced I was worthless.

When I finally redefined my boundaries on my terms, it inevitably led to a freedom of sorts, and with it an eventual resilience, but before that terribly unglamorous transition back into womanhood, my efforts were met with outrage from those no longer holding control over me. Those people were quick to point out my mistakes and flaws, quick to redirect attention to issues I’d already addressed without them. I’ve since learned to reject their deflection.

It wasn’t an easy lesson.

It is somewhat ironic that those who noticed the oddity of my quiet compliance did not notice that same compliancy while with them over time, and those who saw only snapshots as I tried to establish new boundaries and deal with pushback saw none of the struggle and all of the harshness, blinded in turn by their own flawed lens.

It reinforces me positively now that I know and understand the dynamics at play within most of my relationships. I understand better where I fit within them and I’m no longer despondent about what it tells me because I can more clearly receive the true message.

Back then, I took on too much. Eventually, I broke. I reflected behaviour at the people I love. I matched their energy. I suppose I subconsciously gave myself permission to respond to their mistakes with the same abandon they chose to respond to mine. I had a point and I made it.

I feel equal parts pride and shame about my behaviour but I own it in its entirety and one aspect of that is simply showing up for myself. I stood up for myself when it fucking mattered. Finally.

…But I’d never had genuine confidence before and it went to my head.

It was difficult to move past that. The shame I felt and the shame piled on by others triggered other old wounds and fears.

I broke down, again. I couldn’t speak up. I couldn’t focus. I couldn’t function.

Despite having endured a heap of traumatic crap throughout my life, one of the worst experiences was having so many people dislike and judge me for a speculative version of events.

It’s odd because I’d previously been in a place where my own conviction was enough to get through the day and then I was hanging onto encouragement and criticism alike until there was nothing of myself left. It brought despair as it reinforced a deeply held belief (school of life link).

That has since been eclipsed — losing loved ones can have myriad effects; the resilience I’ve rediscovered, new strength I didn’t know I had, means simply, that those who once drove the fear wagon no longer have the power to run me off-track.

With fear in check, I’m a (mostly) sane woman. Hell, don’t take my word for it—stalk me. (No, seriously—STOP stalking me.)

Despite stalking and harassment, I had to stay on task; I was dealing with internal trauma and having a roof over my head no longer equated to having a safe and private space to heal or grow and yet, years later, I’m transitioning once more into a new phase where I have a little more courage to freely be myself. I’m allowing myself to be who I am. I am handling myself well enough. I am helping to raise a wonderful little human and I’m no longer afraid to place a little trust in those who genuinely want to help. The tricky part has been overcoming those trust issues—trusting too much makes a person an easy target for opportunists; trusting too little hinders authentic connection with others.

How does a person re-establish who they are, be who they are and live with pain without shutting out the world or throwing cruelty back into it?

For me, it began with acknowledging myself.