Written by Quinlan Nightshade
For so long, I lived in the shadows not just the shadows of others, but the ones I cast over myself. The weight of insecurity, self-doubt, and the expectations placed upon me was suffocating. It wasn’t just about how the world saw me, it was about how I saw myself.
I have spent years feeling like I wasn’t enough. Like I had to prove something. Like I had to earn my place in this world by being what others wanted me to be. My mother made sure I believed that my worth was conditional. Society reinforced the lie. And for long, I swallowed it whole.
But I refuse to keep swallowing it. I refuse to keep dimming myself to fit into spaces that were never meant to hold me. This is my story the raw, unfiltered truth of what it means to drown in insecurities and fight my way back to the surface.
My childhood and part of my memories of growing up really were like growing up in Gotham City or Sin City in Chicago. Because I won’t deny I grew up penniless trying to understand the world and being both hopeful and scared of the future because growing up I saw the harsh reality and in my early life I tried to be optimistic and hopeful. But, even when you’re a kid you kinda live in the rose-tinted glasses and in the naive perspective. But, bad enough when you are small trying to understand your morals and trying to understand the reality of the world and the cruel nature of humans as people would and people would pick you apart like wild animals in a jungle. Unfortunately, I was the one that made myself an open target of the jungle. And I won’t deny it other people and their families had better things than I ever would. Growing up in a household without a father, never knew my grandparents, and my mother trying her best to keep a roof over my head. She did try her best as much as she could but, she wasn’t without her demons as well. There were times were I actually wanted to be close and enjoy what she gave me. But, things weren’t always happy and peaceful. Even there were times I really didn’t even trust or love my own mother. Yes, she made sure to have food in my belly and clothes on my back. But nobody is without some judgment and cruelty.
We don’t wake up one day hating ourselves. It happens over time, piece by piece, moment by moment, word by word. It’s in the offhand comments that cut deeper than they should. It’s in the comparisons, the impossible standards, the feeling of never measuring up. For me, insecurities were planted in childhood. It was my mother was me not as a person, but as a reflection of her own failures, her own disappointments, her own control. It was in the way she tore me down with words that she pretended were love. When you’re told something over and over, it doesn’t just become a voice in your head. It becomes your reality.
I’m not going to sugarcoat anything about it because my life was indeed harsh. Growing up on the obese side and being penniless people actually could thrill and satisfaction with the fact that they had things I could never have or trying to also showboat that they could wear or buy clothes because their parents had stable jobs and incomes. Because growing up I did have to wear second-hand clothes or find bargains at thrift stores. And I won’t deny it growing up in society at the time basically shamed both children and adults for being on the chunky side. And…there was a point where I didn’t let that bother me or didn’t put much thought into it. But, people found a way to make me rethink how I should feel about myself. And what makes it worse I allowed them. I allowed myself to do it. And it was an endless battle of hate and madness inside my mind. And it has eaten me alive for so long that I allowed myself to just stay in that mental state and I didn’t even try to get out of it. I just continued to sit with all that emotional weight shackling me, carrying a giant ball from other people including my own and I hated myself for it… .. I won’t deny it I really did. And having the mental mind set of trying to be or fit in like everyone else. Even that still wouldn’t sit well with me because people would still put me as the outcast always having me feel like Quasimodo from Hunchback of Notre Dame. and again I continuously allowed them to. Why? Because I wanted to be like them. Wanting to be in the same world as them. I won’t even try to make myself like a saint. Because I’m not. I allow my morals to go out the window and harm or ruin someone else’s for my own gratification. Or validations from others. I turned into the same person of people that I wanted to be like and looking at it more… ..it is the most horrible thing I have done. and I’m ashamed of myself for that.
And coming to more terms about my past, I had to actually sit and reflect on things I had said or done and at the time. It made me realize that I allowed myself to become a puppet for others to use and thinking if I tried to give them the strings to use and control me then that means I can be like or beloved. Because that annoying part of me was an extreme people pleaser or unfortunately living that good girl image. Just living or thriving on other people’s valuations instead of my own. And growing up there were a lot of people that hated me or didn’t like me. And it actually bothered me why didn’t they? And I never was a malice person or come from bitterness or hatred. Yet, trying to be on people’s good side or letting people degrade me or bully me just to be liked was a disgusting poison that was eating me alive, and for years I let it happen never saying no or saying enough. But even when I did… ..came with more shame and ridicule and people would just laugh it off. And it made me feel more dead or hollow on the inside continuing to consume the poison that I let feed myself repeatedly. Or if it wasn’t poison it was a mask that I would change each and every day hiding away from myself.
I played my role so well that even I started to believe it. But, deep down, I was exhausted…and yes I really was. Because no matter how many masks I wore, the insecurity never left. It just hid beneath the surface, waiting for a moment to remind me that I was still trapped.
For a long time, I thought I could just live with my insecurities. That they were a part of me, something I would always have to carry. But then came the breaking point the moment I realized that I was the only one keeping myself trapped. I was mostly the one who continued to point the blame onto others when I should have put the blame on myself as well. Because I was the one to let it happen and didn’t put a stop to it. But, once I finally decided enough not just from everyone else. Mostly from myself to say enough. Stop allowing the pain and hurt of others’ validations because I started to get sick and tired of others and myself of letting things be the way they are. Wanting people to stay. Wanting people to be in the same light or circle as everyone else. But, that’s when I learned that I don’t need to do that because if people never had your best interest before? what makes you think they will now or later on?
I started to reject the toxic cycles of my past. But, there was still one thing I hadn’t done I hadn’t forgiven myself. I hadn’t forgiven myself for believing the lies. I hadn’t forgiven myself for dimming my own light. I hadn’t gotten to forgive myself for all the years I spent hating the very person I was meant to be. And so, I made a choice. And I didn’t do it for anyone else. I mostly did it for me and only me. No more masks. No more shrinking. No more apologizing for taking up space. If people couldn’t handle the real me, that’s their fault, not mine. And it took me so long to FINALLY realize that. And yes I should have done that a long time ago. But, when you made yourself bricked inside your own mind. It’s going to take you, so long to finally break through those bricks little by little. And I had to break away brick by brick finally getting through the dust and debris to finally feel free from my own prison. Because it’s not going to happen overnight it’s going to take a very long time. And there still are bricks that I’m still breaking through and I’m still going to heal.
It didn’t happen overnight. Healing never does. But step by step, I started reclaiming my power. I started letting go of validation. Stopped chasing compassion from people who would give it to others but, never to me. And will never have your best interest ever. I started to allow myself to be flawed, imperfect, and human. I started loving myself for all the ugly parts that I was taught to hate. And most importantly? I embraced my own darkness.
Because for so long, I thought I had to choose light or dark, good or bad, strength or vulnerability. But I am all of it. I am the chaos and the calm. I am the storm and the silence after. I am the black sheep who refuses to be sacrificed. I have walked through hell and made it my own. And now, I’m actually comfortable with myself. And I fucking enjoy it. Flaws. And all. No shame. I still have shadows of my past still lingering but, I don’t let the shadows continue to call out and try to grab a hold of me. I know they’re there but I don’t try to brick myself up again. I started to analyze and reflect on everything. Each past experience and memory does hold a lesson behind it, and instead of hurting my own feelings about it or letting the past take over making me feel like I’m drowning. Instead, I sit and reflect because again I’m not a saint and I’m not trying to be one either. Because nobody is a saint without learning something from their past to make them reflect and come to terms with themselves and everything else around them.
Everyone has their own battles and each battle will struggle for such a long time but, it’s up to the person how they handle it. But to people who are going through it or actually have already done it and won. Hear me when I say this: I see you. I know what it’s like to feel like you’ll never be enough. I know what it’s like to carry the weight of expectations, of fear, of doubt. You do not have to stay in the prison they built for you. You do not have to keep wearing masks that suffocate you. You do not have to keep believing lies about worth.
You are already enough. You always have been. And the moment you stop seeking permission to exist as you are, you will finally understand what it means to be free. I am not the person I was before. I have faced my own demons, and I have made peace with them. And now, I wear my truth like armor. This is my story. This is my truth. And I will never be ashamed of it again.
Beautiful Enigmas 