I’m Proud of You

For what it’s worth, I didn’t think writing this post would be so difficult.

“I’m ready to be proud of myself and to be bold enough to say it out loud in agreement with you. Only, even better, I’m ready to not need to hear it from you. Because you know what, I am proud of myself.”

For what it’s worth, I didn’t think writing this post would be so difficult - we’re talking five drafts discarded, difficult. I mean, I knew it wasn’t going to be easy - but it’s been more of a challenge than I want to admit. You see, dear sweet reader, you are not who I am talking about. If I was trying to write a post about why I was proud of you I could probably knock that out in about 20 minutes - tops. I would tell you all the things you’re doing well, all the joy I get from you, how I think you’re crushing life simply by breathing the air it takes to live it. I would shower you with pride - mean every single word, and prove to you why I believe them to be true when I learn from your eyes you don’t believe me. I would do that - no problem. But, I’m not talking to you. I’m talking to me.

Dear me, I’m proud of you. (insert eye-roll here)

See, I’m a words of affirmation person - like big time - like so much so that it’s probably detrimental at this point. I need (read: needed, remember, your girl is in recovery and this is one of the things she’s working on) to be told I’m doing well. Between the acknowledgment of a job well done, others appreciating my contributions, a confirmation of my ideas being “good ones,” and others using what I see as the most valuable currency (language) to fund my esteem I could go for days off of one “atta girl”. That is, until I couldn’t.

I can’t pinpoint the time when words started making my eyes roll, my stomach turn, and starting sending the sensation of knives to my heart but I can tell you, at some point those same compliments, praises, and huzzahs put me in a place of doubt rather than bliss. It’s a weird feeling when what you’ve used as fuel for so long begins to poison you. When you feel like such an imposter because you see none of the things in yourself that others claim to see. You start to wonder who is the fool - is it you, is it them? Are they the ones lying to you or are you lying to them? Because, while someone is saying they wish their daughter would grow up to be like you, you're praying all kinds of prayers that they don’t because you don’t like who you are and you’re convinced they shouldn’t either.

When people compliment your academic achievements: all you think about is the number of late papers you turned in, the fact that you’re graduating a year later than you should have, and that you’re not even sure if you actually know the information or if you just are a really lucky test taker. Not to mention that they seem to be the only type of achievements you’re able to obtain. 

When people compliment your friendships: all you think about is how crappy of a friend you must be because you never have the energy to do anything, you feel completely isolated, and clearly you’re not a good enough friend to appreciate the ones you do have.

When people compliment your faith: all you think about is how you would rather sleep than go to a Sunday service, you think about how the only Jesus you take in is from the radio, and you’re not even sure if God is talking to you anymore because you know you’re not, so why would He.

When people compliment your career: all you think about is how it’s the only thing you do, it’s the only thing you are, it’s the only thing you have to talk about - and that’s typically to the very people you work with who know the only stories you have to tell.

When people compliment your X, Y, Z: all you think about is how selfish you are to either not appreciate what you have or wish you had more.

When people tell you how proud they are of you and all you want to do is vomit because you certainly don’t understand how someone could feel that way about you. And, if in those brief pockets of time when you do agree, and you’re also proud of yourself, you don’t dare say it out loud because then you’re vain and that is unbecoming.

Well, you know what, I’ve spent years feeling this way, years trying to get over it, and years cycling back, but I’m done.

I’m done with assuming negatives. I’m done believing that I’m a side character in my own life. I’m done using the very language I adore to cripple my spirit any longer. I’m done with being mean to my brain and letting my brain be mean to my body and soul.

I’m in charge again. Me. The real me. The fearfully and wonderfully made, me. The made for such a time as this, me. The formed you in your mother’s womb, me. The more than the degrees, more than the occupations, more than the XYZs, me.

I’m tired of these expectations, obligations, limitations, and restrictions that overtime I allowed myself to believe were true. I’m saying “Fuck that Shit” to all of it. I’m praying Sarah Jakes Roberts’ Get Up Girl over my every day. I’m no longer saying no to things I want to do because I can’t find others to come with me. I am reclaiming adjectives I told myself I didn’t deserve.

I’m learning to listen to my body to give it what it needs. I’m figuring out what my passions are and I’m making time for them. I’m discovering who I am without all the identities I’ve clung to.

I’m ready to cash in on a promise I made to myself two years ago. I’m ready to be proud of myself and to be bold enough to say it out loud in agreement with you. Only, even better, I’m ready to not need to hear it from you. Because you know what, I am proud of myself.

I’m proud of the fact that I’m diving into the things I put on a vision board - and I’m not going to be mad that it took me six years to do it.

I’m proud of the fact that you are reading these words right now - and I’m not going to be mad that I did more to make that happen in five days than in the 15 months that I’ve had the idea.

I’m proud of the fact that I am finding more days that I am able to end with - I liked myself today and truly mean it.

I’m proud of stepping away from things - even though I’m still not ready to talk about them. 

I’m proud of every moment that led me to my breaking point - because now here we are! 

I’m proud of myself for being so committed to this change of spirit to engrave these very words on my skin, in my own handwriting, and to be able to wake up and go to sleep to them daily.

I’m proud of you.

Image Context: Over the last month, I’ve thought about getting this tattooed. It was after getting pictures taken in Atlanta and ending my session with Rachel saying, “I’m proud of me.” She simply responded, you need to do it. That conversation was on Sunday, August 8th. On Monday, August 9th, I wrote this down on scratch paper. Four days later, August 13th, I drove three hours to get the tattoo. This is what I’m committed to.