To Who I Used to Be

 

I am a fire. I blaze something ferocious, and I am not sorry about that fact. I am quiet and reserved in our first meetings. But once my base level of what I can share and be transparent about is established, I am like a wildfire. I have a strong thirst for the stories of others, and I am compelled by those who have become the heroes of their own stories, even when the rest of the world has relegated them to being “forever” victims.

The me that I used to be? I used to be so filled with wonder. Everything about life was bright, and bold, and beautiful. I clung to knowledge and exploration. I laughed. I cried. I was sassy, smart mouthed, and quick witted. Everything about me epitomized the notion of childlike melded with 7 going on 70. There was something inside of me, a little tiny adult still believing in fairy tales.

Things changed when I was younger. I will let those incidents lay to rest. Figuratively, the grave of that little Ashley is unmarked and unmourned. Part of my soul was ripped away, and as quick as I once was to cling to fairytales? I was even more quick to stop trusting that anything good could come from life, or was left for me.

I was a self mutilator when I was younger. The scars of my past have a tremendous visibility on both my flesh and my spirit. Though I no longer choose to be defined by the things that have happened to me, that doesn’t mean that I can ignore that they are a part of me. 

So, in a reaction to what life had thrown at me, I became bitter, cynical, and mistrusting. I was defensive and wanted nothing to do with anyone else. Into my shell I retreated, and I thought that my entire life would now be relegated to fending for myself. Thankfully, that was wrong. I was wrong.

You see, I could live my life convinced that since bad things happened to me, they will always happen to me. I could let the shame and embarrassment consume me. But I have chosen to let that drive me. I could regret all of the choices I made in reaction to my situations. But I have made a vow to myself, I will not hold PAST me accountable for her actions with the bias of what PRESENT me knows. 

In other words: I can’t blame myself for not knowing then, what I know now.

Who I used to be? That isn’t me anymore. But who I am now? I am more and more proud of who I am becoming.

Accepting the Non Apology

I’m going to be upfront. I love holding onto my anger sometimes. I just want to coat myself in it, and roll around. And I can tell you why–I like to be right. I like to be the winner of an argument. So when I’m proven wrong or my message falls on deaf ears, I just want to wallow in my anger. Drown in it, even.

But being angry gets you nowhere. It guarantees only one thing for you: you lose all forward mobility. You are stuck. Don’t mishear me. There is that moment when your anger can propel you to fight for yourself, or make changes. But when you are wallowing in your anger: YOU ARE STUCK.

My anger usually is harbored because I don’t get an apology I think I deserve. Sometimes, it is one that I really want. When people deliver blows to your trust and hold no loyalty to you, I’m sorry are words that become a salve to your wounds. It doesn’t guarantee that you will reconcile. But it does mean that you can start the process of healing.

There are more times than not that those apologies never come. I’ve discerned that a lot of people like being right. Some people would rather be right than to say their sorry. And in order for your life to move forward? You’ve got to accept the apologies that never come.

Do you hold onto unforgiveness and let the bitterness form roots of doubt and uncertainty in your heart? Do you cling to the transgressions formed against you? Do you hold onto those wounds, or do you move forward?

This message stings for me. It feels like someone slashed me with paper and gave me a million paper cuts, poured salt water on them, and then just rubbed them in. It feels like someone just dipped me into a vat of ice water, tossed me into a sauna, and then out into the Arctic Tundra. I don’t do forgiveness without apologies well. But I have to start doing it.

A year ago, I could have given you a full line up of the women that would be in my bridal party. I could have told you why I had to go back and forth between which woman would be my maid of honor, but how all of the women in my life deserved that honor. I was surrounded by a small group of people that were my tribe and my lifelines. But life happens. And it keeps happening. My zip code changed, my priorities changed, my idea of what my life should be changed. Change is great! It’s scary, but it can be so liberating. In that rush, the hustle, the bustle? Those women stopped being my tribe. They stopped being the women I could call whenever something big was happening. We all got busy.

And it hurt.

So I have two choices.

1. Bitterly mope about the reality that these people I clung to are no longer there for me.
2. Realize that my life is moving in a positive direction, and that not everyone gets to come with me.

Here’s the challenge. Sit down today, think about it. What do you need to forgive that won’t ever have an apology? And how can you let that fuel you rather than being a pit of quicksand dragging you down?