Finding "Tasha"

I feel like I am finally getting back to who and where I want to be.

A time not too long ago, I forgot who "Tasha" was. I became someone I do not know. Someone I do not understand. Someone who I do not like, for the past few years. Who I am. That concept has been at the mercy of the people I've surrounded myself with. I've been at the mercy of the person I became, because I thought it was easier to be her. Because I thought, perhaps, they would like her better. Because sometimes being "Tasha" hurts a little too bad.

The fact that "me" is a fluid state, has made it all the more easy to stray from my home base: from my morals, my compassion, my conscience.So I became this person; this woman; that held the ability to adapt to the harsh truths of the world. A woman who faced adversity with an unforgiving spirit. A woman who could do all the things that I wasn't built to. And so wished that I was.

So this new person emerged, and became, in essence, who I could not. She became the protector of the fragile and sensitive person that is Tasha. She was this person that protected "me". A person I became in times of trial. A person I became when being "Tasha" was too painful. A person I became when I was uncomfortable; a person I became in close proximity to vulnerability.

And so she became "me". And "I" became nothing . I sat sheltered underneath her concrete wing, unable to grow, unable to see. She emerged. "I" was able to see this entire new world; a world faced with strength, with shamelessness, with anger, with aggression. And "Tasha" faded away into the background of an unfamiliar world.

The difficulty with becoming someone else for a long period of time, is that you forget who you originally were. I have lost track of the person I was ultimately protecting; I have lost "Tasha".

And I come to that realization.

I know who Tasha is, I just don't remember how to be her.

I'm not mean. I dislike confrontation. My skin is not so thick that no one and nothing can reach in. I'm not her. I'm not her.

So, in this realization, my only hope is that "Tasha" is still in here somewhere. And if she is, I hope that she can forgive me, and who I have become.And so I emerge into this new and terrifying place, as a sheltered and vulnerable version of myself many years ago. And hope that it won't hurt too badly.

I know it won't be easy. For so few people are aware of the beauty and tragedy that this world knows. It's never easy to wear the weight of the world, but a life seeing beauty the way that "Tasha" once did, is one worth living as Tasha.

Disarray

I’ve recently crossed paths with an issue I don’t fully understand; the idea of self esteem; the idea of a positive regard for oneself. The concept does not resonate with me. It is completely unfamiliar, but doesn’t bother me. It is normal; because things in my life are not black and white. It’s not that I lack a certain regard for myself, or dislike who I am. It’s hard to explain. I’m not fully sure who I am. This, what might be seen as another character flaw, does not bother me either. How am I to feel something either way, for someone I do not know? ; Myself.

I’m a person in constant evolution. I’m surrounded by change. How am I to have this personal esteem for myself, when “myself” is an ever-changing concept? My self-awareness is constantly mirrored by the places I see, the people I know and the feelings I experience. My life is a messy art-form; a collage of where I’ve been, interactions, and the things I find beautiful. I am soft clay, being sculpted and re-sculpted by these things. Never satisfied with the current shape; change being necessary. Each form, once completed, evolves into one renewed; different. Maybe one day some form will be who I become; soft clay hardened. But I am still searching for who that is, who I want it to be.

I often think that what is beautiful about my life is the disorganization, the mystery. It has never bothered me. Order, gone. It was never really there. The key things run along jagged edges, parts of me overlapping, not in line. Pieces stuck together; adhered with the glue seeping from the sides. Images stuck to words. These things may not be easy to identify up close. Concepts pasted together with little correlation. Colors clashing. A collage that makes no sense when the elements are alone. But when you step back, the components, as a whole are wonderful; the overall concept makes sense. Disarray is beautiful, and part of me; whoever that is.

To Thrive on Conflict

I was taught from a young age, that struggle is a part of life. Not to say that I've experienced more adversity than the next person; but that if everything is going smoothly, then some essential part of the experience is missing.

I have an inherent need to be preoccupied. As much as I complain about the things that don't go my way, I live off the need to fix; over-analyze; compare; solve; and understand.I've reached a juncture in my life, one that has come to help me realize, that even when everything is perfect, I break down the parts of my life that could be better. Even though things are close to wonderful for me, I can't help but dig up issues that lead to less than satisfaction. I choose the high road. I make things more difficult than they need to be. I can't relax, I have to be busy.

Growing up with a father, subsequently a Type A personality, has caused a pattern of thinking in myself that is not natural to my own personality. Life is about never settling; never becoming complacent. In my journey to the adult I have become today, and I use the term "adult" lightly, I have become very familiar with self sabatoge. I've never considered it a negative attribute, because it is what has shaped me. But, satisfaction has always been an arms length away; never too far out of reach, but not quite in my grasp.The paths I take are always the ones that lead to more confusion and stress. The people I choose are always people in need of help. The thoughts I think, always end up chasing each other in my head.

I never thought of my constant struggle to better everything as a nuissance. Rather I had always expected it to be blessing in disguise. I have become a strong person who flourishes in heated situations; distress; pressure; and anxiety. I am my father's daughter as sure as the sun sets. I find myself in a leveled state. Briefly, my progress has pleatued, and I have come to realize that I'm chasing a pot of gold.

I'm not sure if I'll ever find the success and happines I'm searching for, or if I'd even recognize it if it crossed my path. Would I, then, blow it off as something trivial? Could it be possible that I've missed too many opportunities because I took the high road instead? Maybe I'll never know. But until I do, I continue to thrive on conflict.