I spent a long time fighting to be myself. I finally discovered a balance in this last handful of years. It is still a struggle but for some reason, in my late thirties, understanding is moving briskly along. With that understanding comes comfort. I don't have to fight about and for things like I used to. I don't have to make anyone accept me. My own acceptance is enough.
It doesn't go far enough yet but I'm trying. The comfort that it brings allows me to stop resisting things. I got people Christmas presents and birthday gifts in these last years. Not because I care bout ether occasion but because I care about the person. I'm comfortable enough with me to ignore my own opinion and do things to make people I care about happy.
This is a major point for me because I've spent the past while teetering on the brink of my CSM memoirs. I wrote them. I wrote everything. The good. The bad. My fears and tears. I poured it all out and now that it is done I am struggling to move to the next step of sharing. I still wrestle with the discomfort of public opinion when it comes to my creations. It is easy to create in silence and away from the eyes of others. It is harder to stand and be judge on that creation.
Nothing is perfect. The blanket I made is not perfect. Yet, it is not a sum of its flaws but a creation of its whole. The flaws work into it. Hand made some would call it. Maybe that is what my writing of the CSM is as well. Like some won't care for my color choices some will not care for my writing. It is easy to say. So, so easy to say.
It is harder to live through it.