For so much of my life I have felt like an imposter, “playing” at being me. Much of my long-standing anxiety came from this sense of a hole right smack in the middle; the “me” that I was supposed to be simply didn’t exist in the way that others felt it should. At that time, I could not even verbalize what I perceived the problem to be. Therapy didn’t—and couldn’t—help. It helped with many relative problems, but not with that.
It’s as though I’ve been turned right side out, like a pair of pants or a sock after the laundry is dry. The missing pieces of the puzzle have been found, and fit together. But let’s be clear–I don’t know anything–and that concerns me less and less. I am quite happy to notice my direct experience, no matter how far it differs from the norm that most people believe, and trust that with my whole heart.
© Amrita Skye Blaine, 2013
photo credit: AuntieMoon