I’m a rule breaker who’s been hidden in the body of a “Good Girl”, and quite often that is pure torture.
I guess it should come as no surprise to me (or my parents) that I’ve only ever dated guys who hate rules. Every single one of them has been a contrarian, much to the chagrin of past versions of me. For someone trapped in Good Girl conditioning, seeing someone else unapologetically do whatever the hell they want can be more painful than accidentally cutting your finger while chopping an onion.
Because who the hell are they to get to break all the rules when I’m stuck over here being all polite and polished and responsible and generally keeping the peace?
That was the narrative happening in my head.
At some point, I did enough healing that I could start to see all the ways I was a contrarian myself and slowly but surely I started to stop caring as much what anyone but my fine self thinks.
Now, one of Geoff’s sons refuses to use me as an example of anything normal saying, “Alyssa you’re an anomaly and an outlier and therefore can’t be counted for the equation” and I couldn’t be happier about it.
3 points for authentic me, 0 points for Good Girl.
I resisted it for the longest time. I wanted to fit in so badly when I was only allowed to listen to Christian pop music and wear skorts to school growing up. (A skort is the clothing equivalent of a spork—skirt in front, shorts in the back). Terrible.
The unfolding has been accepting the fact that I’m not meant to fit in everywhere (neither are you).
Tradition and me do not go hand in hand. That appreciation was bestowed upon my brother.
When I started liking myself for who I was, I realized fitting in was dramatically overrated.
However, I still fall prey to thinking that it would be easier. After all, we all want to be liked. But the me I put into the world when I’m overly concerned about what people think is diluted. Like iced tea that starts to taste like water because you let it sit in the ice too long. No thank you.
I choose full strength.
My keto self won’t sugar coat that’s painful at times and requires daily practice, but it’s oh so worth it.
The fact of the matter is that my creativity comes off the cuff, in spurts, and when I feel like I have to be overly polished (a message I received and was rewarded for most of my life) I feel like I start to suffocate and then can’t get anything done.
Resisting this fact is useless. Surrendering to it transmutes the stagnant pond to a flowing current.
Are you diluting yourself to fit the mold somewhere? What if your creativity is exactly what’s needed?
Flourishing starts with an ownership of your strengths.
On a scale of 😭😢🥺😩😕😔🙃🙂😄 how self-expressed are you feeling? I’d love to know in the comments.
Take up the space. The Earth is vast, it can handle you being your boldest, brightest self (even if some people in your life can’t appreciate it…yet).