This is My Confession

Time for a harsh realization. I am not the person I once was.

Obviously there is the physical aspect: I had a baby, I ate in a lot of restaurants for work and I no longer get carded at bars and clubs. While I (was forced to) enjoy the changes, it is hell trying to undo the damage of eight years of bodily neglect. For one thing, I have to work on having the discipline to stick to a healthy routine of eating right and working hard. For another, I have to remember that Rome was not built in a day, so I should not expect to be a size 10 in the next week.

However, the physical metamorphosis aside, what I am more bothered about (and this is saying a lot because anyone who knows me know that I am vain about my looks) is the shifting of an inherent part of my personality. The crux of the matter is this: I am not as fearless as I once was.

Growing up as the only girl, I have always been known to speak my mind, whether I was in the right of things or not, whether people listened or not. Moving to the US and Europe has only heightened this sense of being honest no matter what the cost, being direct in order to be understood clearly where language is a barrier, being tougher instead of being taken for a ride. I have also used the same principles and determination to tackle anything and everything I thought would make me a more well-rounded person (hence the need to diet and exercise... good joke?), from joining the dance troupe when it was clear I had two left feet to joining the swim team when I looked more like the buoy than a swimmer.

I took on these challenges because I thought, at that time, if I don´t try, how will I know if I will succeed or fail? It was the not knowing part, the potentially having regrets part that spurred me to try everything at least once. To be able to say I had done it, to be able to make a judgement call if something was truly worth it or not. This was the same incentive I had when I accepted an overseas job, the same feeling in my chest when I decided to fall in love away from what I knew as home.

However, nowadays, I find myself hesitant about trying something new. I also find myself holding back from working on something I always thought I would enjoy. Like starting a kids´clothing business, like writing a book, or like going back to school and learning a new language. Some days I mislabel the fear and call it a lack of enthusiasm or energy, and explain to myself that of course I do not have the inclination to start something new since Sophie/Warrick/Christian/the house/unpacking/settling in/the former job had to take priority and all my energy. Other days I just choose to completely ignore that side of me that clamours for some new distraction to ease the comfortable pattern I call life at the moment.

It´s times like this, when I have ten minutes to myself because the house has quieted down and everyone is in their respective beds but me, that I wish I could be more energetic, that I could find more energy reserves, that I could, to quote the title of a book, face the fear (of what, exactly?) and do it anyway. Maybe I get too scared of losing time, effort and money? Or am I just plain scared of the hard work involved?

It may be a complex mixture of anxieties that I will never be able to figure out in their correct proportion, nor would I want to waste time trying. Suffice to say that something was snuffed out in me along the way from high school to now, and that something may have been the Carpe Diem spirit that had served me and my (false) confidence so well in the past.

Still, knowing is half the battle, according to G.I.Joe cartoons, so this confession can´t be all bad, right? Besides, fears can be conquered, one day at a time, which is a faster rate than most weight loss plans guarantee anyway. Perhaps if I am more patient with myself and more realistic about what levels I want to achieve, indeed if I can set levels in the first place, I should be able to face each scary new thing in a different perspective. Much like a puzzle, once I can figure out the edges, group the colours and refer to the box once in a while, I should be able to piece together bits of what would make a nice, well-rounded life. Eventually.

The important thing is to not lie to myself anymore and to admit that the one thing holding me back is, granted a big thing, but it is just me. And, at the end of the day, I too am what matters, so nothing should stand in my way of self-improvement and fulfilment, not even myself.