I've had a lot of labels applied to me over my life. And, no, I'm not counting profanities. Many of these I have already managed to discard, knowing the sources of them and recognizing that those simply aren't accurate reflections of who I am. Others, though... I have to admit to some of them. Competitive, dramatic, stubborn. And, in some ways, I so badly want to justify those. To say, "here, this is why. It's not really *my* fault." Or something similar to that. The impulse is even stronger when these things come from sources I trust.
But.
I have a very good therapist now. Karen, who I believe I mentioned having a good feeling about in an earlier post, is a big part of the healing I feel happening (and in some respects, more quickly than I expected). Usually, after a session with her, I find myself dusting off some newly unearthed realizations. So, what did I realize that merited this post after so long a silence?
It's my story. I'm writing this one. And, regardless of what life and the universe throw at me, I still get to decide what those events mean and how to respond to them. I get to choose what happens next. I get to look at the labels that surround me, regardless of their validity or source, and determine how much they mean and whether they hurt or are just a part of me that deserves as much love as, say, the labels that read kind or intelligent or funny.
This is my story. And, I'm rediscovering just how much I like it.
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