The girl who started this post titled it "Don't suffer in silence." Because maybe she was mad that she let a few people in her life make her so miserable that she dreaded getting out of bed every morning. That silly, sweet girl just kept taking the unwelcome demands on her, to heart. She knew they were selfish and driven from a lack of grace but kept taking it. But, the girl writing it now had a nice chat with her friend and has decided to change the post significantly. So here it is:
January 31, 2005 was a Monday, according to Siri. I remember hating Monday more than most people. I had a whole new week ahead of me to survive. Perhaps, this was just preparing me for brain injury life. As I was driving yesterday to meet a friend, this thought came to my mind as the "Annie-versary" (the day of my aneurysm rupture but 19 years later) approached. Nineteen years ago, this would be my "last day" being the me that I was. The generally healthy but anxious creature trying to make her way through life the best way she knew how. The shy, but oh so friendly girl, if you got to know her. The girl full of laughs and potential. The girl wanting desperately to keep her teaching certification permeant even if she didn't use it immediately. The newly married girl who missed her college friends and family as she tried to navigate a new phase in life. And sure, there were a lot of really fantastic things about the 2005 version of me. I could paint a pretty rosy picture from my selective memory. But, I also immediately had this thought, too. If I'm honest, completely honest, I am happier now. I'll give you a minute to reread that.
The girl who started writing this had an entire page rehashing exactly why she was at a breaking point on January 31, 2005; coming unglued to the point of going to an ER for a severe panic attack in the weeks before that day. However, I deleted her writing. It no longer feels worth rehashing the hurt caused by the increasing demands to have children by people who have only showed me time and time again, they don't actually care about getting to know me, to see my heart and own the hurt they caused. So, that angry, hurt girl, well, she is still both of those things. But, she has found some peace in realizing that she is only responsible to steward what God has given her through the lens of "loving the Lord your God with all your heart and mind and loving others as yourself." I am far happier and more content now than I ever would have been meeting the demands of others, even IF they were well-intentioned beyond the terrible, intrusive and unwelcomed delivery. Someone once told me we are equally responsible for our intentions as we are for their impact. And so the journey continues. I hope my story is someone else's survival guide.
