I’ve always had this idea of who I wanted to be; some perfect mixture of Anne from Anne of Green Gables, Jo from Little Women, and Laura from Little House On The Prairie. I wanted to be a quiet girl, too; someone who didn’t have to ramble on about every thought that popped into her head.

I’d be a girl mysterious in her own way, tomboy through and through, above average in my education, and unlike your every-day teenager. I had plans to be a writer and see my name on great works of literature. And somehow, just somehow, I had to be better and smarter than my oldest brother. It just wasn’t fair how much better he was at everything than me (somehow I failed to realize that he was in fact older and therefore more experienced in general).

I’ve also never liked to be emotional. Growing up the only girl among three children, I was always frustrated with myself for being more emotional than my siblings. Even my mother has never been the kind of person to cry often, so comparing myself to her put me in the same sate of frustration.

Hold this back, push that back, brush that up, keep your chin up, stop talking so much, be smart, be creative, don’t cry so much… that was me, trying to be perfect; not because anyone else expected it of me, but because that’s what I expected of myself.

When I moved to a new state and began to meet people in the area, I had who I wanted to be all figured out. Then came chronic illness. Continue reading →