Do you ever feel like you’ve lost yourself?

Maybe it’s just a part of becoming an adult. I remember being twelve, begging my older sister to play dress up with us younger sisters, and she kept trying to explain, “I just don’t like those things anymore! I don’t like to play.” In my adolescent mind I swore, “I’ll never grow up like that. How could anyone forget how fun it is to play?” But I have forgotten.

I find no joy in the things I once did. I get embarrassed far too easily, blushing at the idea of wearing a costume or twirly dress. Have I just misplaced my priorities somehow?  Why can’t I wear glitter or costumes or talk to animals or paint without reserve or tap into my desire to perform and be watched? What happened to my abandon to creativity?

Somewhere along the line I pushed those small joys down and away. The friendless young lady I once was started making friends by caring what other people thought. I began to be concerned about what was “cool” or what would get a bigger laugh and forgot the uniqueness that set me apart. The loneliness a creative person experiences can be devastating and I was determined not to live a life in which I was desperately lonely.

I stopped drawing because it didn’t look how people expected and I lacked skill to make my lines and curves into as excellent of things as the world demanded. I judged my own personal art I used to express myself with ridiculous standards.

I stopped acting because I was overwhelmed with the politics and confusion of not knowing what people wanted. I was told I wasn’t an asset to an acting company because I didn’t have an education and because I was white. My voice began to falter and my confidence totally crumbled at the harsh words of people in my community. They weren’t right, but I was too fragile and impressionable to realize.

I got a counselor. She promised to get me singing again, acting again. I went to her for over two years. She helped for maybe the first year and right after I had my baby and was totally overwhelmed. Besides then, she was a fierce challenger. She said things that triggered self doubt and made me feel totally unhealthy and weak. Once I told her that I would like to come less, maybe every other week instead of every week, and she just laughed at me. She did that a lot. She didn’t like for me to talk, in fact she interrupted me often. Albeit, sometimes I needed to be interrupted, but sometimes I just needed to be validated. I felt shamed and shut down by her. My anxiety stayed in my throat.

Perhaps I quit these things I loved because I want to separate myself from my younger self. I thought I was ugly and unlovable. Hate for myself filled me. It makes sense that I would try to severe the things I loved as a child from my adult self. Now that I realize it, I am afraid that it’s too late to stir the excitement and depth I once had for these mediums. I’m struggling with the feeling that I am too messed up to help myself, which I believe is untrue. I mean, I’ve got Google.

I want to grow my imagination and confidence. I want to want again. Albert Einstein once said that the true sign of intelligence is not knowledge, but imagination. I’m not sure I agree entirely, but I certainly do think that making room for imagination is healthy. Surely we judge ourselves too much.

That’s why I’m going back to the things I loved. Even if the feeling isn’t there, I’m going to pursue these hobbies like a desperate spouse pursues his or her loved one in hopes to save a dying marriage. Maybe the feelings aren’t there, but the memory of that love is and the possibility of reviving it is worth the struggle.

I’m going to wear glitter.  And I’m going to sing because I have a beautiful voice and it’s fine that it doesn’t sound exactly how I want it to. It’s normal that my voice has grown older with me. I am twenty-three and so are my vocal cords. I’m going to style my hair in crazy buns. I’m going to write even though my sentences aren’t creative and I always seem to start them out with “I”. I’m going to play piano even if it sounds stupid and I can only play chords. I’m going to write music again, even if I feel simple minded and innocent. I’m going to draw even if my flowers look flat and my faces are unrealistic.

I’m going to do all these things because I like to. It is silly to punish myself by taking away the things that bring me joy. I have a son now and I want him to know me as a whole person. Without these things there is a huge part of me missing. I didn’t need to be like other people or to push myself away. I needed to relax and explore the things that I loved. These things represent myself and I’m learning that I’m not all that bad. I’m pretty darn cool.