Sexuality, Identity, and the Analogy of the prized collectible car

I've decided to start figuring out how to take care of myself. As a mother of two young kids, I find very little time to prioritize my needs. I've skated by like this for six years. But I wouldn't say I am coping well. I have found with more frequency and consistency that my ability to self regulate is compromised. Blame that on the autism, the ptsd, or my lack of identity, but I believe I am closer than every to a mental collapse. Not sure what that would look like but I can't afford to find out.

For this reason, I've instituted one very small thing. Sunday night evenings are mine. I don't have to leave or be back at any set point. The kids know I won't be doing bed time with them. I can write, photograph, walk through target, whatever the hell I want.

What do I want? Well, that varies from moment to moment honestly. Right now, I want to explore a part of my identity that I have hidden away from the world and self for so long. I want to try and figure out how to claim back this piece of me that was always supposed to be mine but never belonged to me. Something that was perhaps, taken from me without consent. Something that was suppressed in order to maintain social, familial, and religious acceptance. That part of me? My sexuality.

For a long time I have been asking myself some of the toughest questions I've ever pondered. "Why can't I remember everything that happened to me as a little girl?" "Why am I having memories resurface?" "How could he do that to a little girl?" "Why couldn't I just love who made me feel safe?" "How would my life have turned out if I was able to unashamedly remain in romantic relationship with my female best friend?" "If we didn't have to carry on a secret relationship during one of the most pivotal developmental moments of my life?

What if my sexuality was mine? Can I take it back? How might I go about beginning that process? And what does it mean for my family and myself if I do?

So many questions and so little time and space to figure this out. But I have begun to advocate for myself in small ways. I have started to acknowledge to myself and to my people that I am more than a mom and wife. More than a mediocre meal maker and lazy laundry loader. I'm lit up by something and even if I don't know what that is at this moment, I will figure it out.

As I begin this journey of self discovery, I plan to share my experiences. I think there are so many people out there like me- emotionally, physically, sexually stunted and suppressed. Screaming internally every day for a glimmer of freedom and exploration. Waiting for the day we'll finally feel like we are in charge of our own lives and bodies. Well, nobody is going to give us the keys to the car. We have to decide if they're worth taking anyway. I have decided they must be taken, no questions asked and no fucks given. After all, it's my car right?

I will take good care of the beautiful hunk of metal that has been locked in the damp, dark garage. Sitting pretty under a protective cloth. Shined and polished by the keeper but never taken out for a spin. Just used as a symbol of status and some weird perverse need to collect pretty things that the keep personifies as a "She" or "her".

I won't allow my car to kept in anyone else's garage any longer. Not even the one who takes such good care of "it". I will delight in joy rides when I please. I will ride with the roof down even in the rain. I will take it at whatever goddamned pace I feel like. And I will never let anyone else drive.

I think that's about all the car analogy I can stand. But I think my point was made. And though I sound angry with confidence(I am), I am also terrified and grievous over how I go to this place and how I will get myself out.

Wish me luck?