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Rough Diamond

Finally Sparkling Authentically and Loving It

By Misty RaePublished 2 years ago 5 min read
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Me, no filter required

It seems strange to admit, but for the first 45 years of my life, give or take, I had no idea who I was. Even worse, I had no idea who I wanted to be or what my place or purpose was in this world. It took a complete mental breakdown for me to find out.

Call it poor self-esteem. Call it undiagnosed Autism. Call it a series of poor life choices or a fear of failure. It doesn't matter, they're all true, in part. And they all contributed to me living somebody else's life for over 4 decades.

I don't know exactly when or how it started. All I know is somewhere along the line, I got the message that I had to be more, and do more than everyone else in order to be accepted. There was something about me that had to earn her way into whatever life had to offer. And once I was in, I had to constantly prove my worth in order to be allowed to remain there.

I carved myself out a tidy niche. I was superwoman. I was everything to everyone around me. Best wife, best mother, best daughter, best lawyer, skinniest, prettiest, most perfect. People looked at me in awe. They admired my strength. They marvelled at my accomplishments; at how I was able to achieve the nearly unachievable.

Law School Grad Pic

Sure, I went back to school at 34. Sure I worked all night, every night at a call centre, then got the kids off to school, and then headed off to the university. Sure I did that for 2 years, cramming 3 years of study into those 16 months to graduate at the top of my class. Sure I went to Law School after that and landed a job at the largest firm in the region. Sure, I worked 80 - 100 hours a week, often going without sleep, taking on more and more. And sure, when my mother's health started to deteriorate, I did it all and found time to drive the 90 minutes every few days to care for her and arrange her appointments. And I did it all while looking flawless in my cute little suits, expensive shoes, nail, hair and make-up on point.

Trip to the hospital to visit my mother

Was I tired? Hell no, I wasn't tired. I didn't have time to be tired. I was wanted. I was needed. I was somebody. I was THE person everyone could count on to get things done.

I wasn't tired. I was exhausted. I was exhausted, anxious and depressed. But I didn't know it. Anytime an unpleasant feeling came along, I pushed it down. There was no time for weakness, I told myself. Just toughen up and keep it moving.

But eventually, it became harder and harder to push those feelings down. It became harder and harder to get things done. I wanted to run. I wanted to hide, but there was nowhere to go. As it turns out, you can't run from yourself.

I crashed and burned. I gave up my career. I stayed in bed. I hid from the world for an entire month. I couldn't bring myself to do even the simplest of tasks. Everything was suddenly and overwhelmingly hard, except hiding under the covers.

Thankfully, my husband was there. Without him, I shudder to think where I'd be now. He took up the slack both financially and around the house. He patiently listened to my tearful rants and encouraged me to rejoin the world at my own pace.

One day, in the summer of 2016, he asked me what I wanted to do with my life. I had no idea and told him so. He took a step back, hoping that a more basic question might lead to some ideas and asked me who I was, deep down, who was I, in my mind. I still remember the initial wave of panic that came over me as I digested the question. Then the tears started to fall as I realized I had no idea. I was 45 years old and I had no idea who I was. I knew what people told me I was. I knew what I had once been at least as far as a career went. I knew my name, and that I had curly hair and was thin. That was about it. I didn't even really know what I enjoyed doing because it had been so long since I'd done anything for myself.

I sobbed in his arms as the hot summer sun beat down on us. He was so kind, so understanding. He asked me to go back in my mind to when I was about 3 or 4, the last time I remembered being truly free and happy. He asked me about that little girl. What was she like? What did she like to do?

Little Happy Me

I thought about it and answered his question. Little Me didn't care if her hair was messy. Little Me didn't care what anyone thought. She drew her pictures, played with her toys and wrote her stories. She went everywhere at a furious pace, running, not walking, a teeny tiny fireball. Little me loved life and loved herself. She was a true gem, a rough diamond, brilliantly sparkling and perfect in her imperfection.

With that in mind, I slowly worked toward embracing Little Me again. I rediscovered my love for writing. I discovered a love of painting. But most of all, I discovered a love for myself. I found a strength I didn't know I had, a true strength to just let myself be me. I became fearless again. I even bought and wore a bikini for the first time ever on my 46th birthday, because, stretchmarks and bony ribs be dammed!

First bikini at 46

It's been quite a journey, but in that breakdown, and with the help of my husband, I found myself. I'm M. Rae. I'm a sensitive soul but will fight to the death to protect those that I love. I'm a bit quirky, a bit silly and a bit loud. I'm terribly opinionated and a little hot-tempered. I still move at the speed of light despite being 50. I'm a mother, a wife, a writer and a wannabe chef. I can't sing and I don't care; if my favourite jam comes on, you'll hear me screeching along loud and proud. I ditched the bra and the make-up years ago and what you see is what you get, a little rough around the edges with obvious imperfections but a truly and brilliantly authentic sparkle.

Just Me, being Just Me

recovery
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About the Creator

Misty Rae

Retired legal eagle, nature love, wife, mother of boys and cats, chef, and trying to learn to play the guitar. I play with paint and words. Living my "middle years" like a teenager and loving every second of it!

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