That Kind Of Woman

Sometimes, I worry about the person I will be in 10 years, like they are an entity on their own that already exists in my head. I suppose it’s almost the same way that I look back and worry about the person I was 8 years ago. 

I don’t hate my age. In fact, I am spoiled that I am the age I am, that I have time. Time to learn more, to correct the flaws I have slowly, like braces and crooked teeth.

I had crooked teeth, I suppose I do again. That’s what happens when you refuse to wear your retainer. I nearly cried when my mom said I should have braces. Why? My teeth were crooked, my bottom teeth all wonky, like my mother’s. I love everything about the way my mom smiles, it makes me feel like a kid again. 

I suppose I am suspending in this time that is filled with trials and tribulations that only happen to a girl in her early 20s. It’s just moments we have to wade through that will make us better and better people. I am not the best person I could ever be, but I believe I am on point for who I need to be right now. I’m selfish. Yeah, but here’s the thing: on a certain level I can be selfish. I have no partner nor child who I have pledge responsibility to. I hold myself to the relationships I have, with friends, and family, within my professional life. But, I also get the great luxury of going through life for myself, to learn more about myself. 

I love when people ask me questions, and I get to dig into my head and answer. Answer exactly how I feel, instead of thinking about what my answer should be. I get to learn about myself in those moments and learn about what others see compared to what I understand about myself.

I have a tough time with some people, they come off as judgmental to me, and I take that personally. These people, ones I have tried to dedicate time to, time to foster trust and kinship. And yet, I just don’t please them. I am not funny, or I don’t think before I speak. I doubt myself, I doubt my perception of things, and my ability to communicate.

It’s such an uncomfortable feeling for me since I never feel that way, except in these situations, with these people. A rare moment where my skin crawls and my throat tightens and I feel like bursting into tears. Why? I mean really, why do I immediately feel as though a dagger has found it’s way between my ribs?

It’s me. It’s my foolish attempt to mend things that I can’t see or fix. To blindly try and please. Such a horrible feeling. Not knowing what is wrong nor how to fix it. Fleeting, but so vivid when it happens again. 

I don’t hate my age. I just have a difficult time understanding how much I have experienced, and how much I haven’t. And how neither of them can be defined by age. 

So, I worry about who I will be in 10 years, but not as much as I worry about who I was 10 years ago. I suppose worry isn’t even the word. maybe it’s wonder. 

(Source: thatkindofwoman)