I walked into 3rd grade: high hopes, endless aspirations, and nothing on my mind, except recess. After lunch, the teacher tells us to write down what we wanted to be in life. Scrambling my daydreams, I came up with horseback rider, spy, and a Jamba Juice worker. High aspirations, I know… But, ultimately, thinking of who you wanted to be when you grew up brought excitement, mystery, and altogether joy.

Now in college, well on my way, I was faced with the question of not, “Who do you want to be”, but instead, “Who are you”?

Who am I?

No…Really…Who am I?

For somebody who has been the same person for 19 years, I was found stuck. I didn’t know who I was. I knew who I wanted to be, I knew who everybody else wanted me to be, but I didn’t know who I was.

More terrifyingly, I didn’t know if I’d even like who I was. So amidst all confusion and uncertainty, I did the one thing I knew for certain, which was be what the people wanted me to be: skinny, sarcastic, silky hair, and of course throw in some interesting pop culture facts and VIOLA!!! You’re the perfect person.

The perfect person,

Oh the dreadful fate.

I tricked myself into thinking that if I killed myself striving to be the person in everybody dreams, if I was sarcastically flirty, and liked cool things, people would see me as the person they wanted me to be. If I minimized complaining, and my obnoxiously loud burps, I could get to where I wanted to go. And I would find acceptance through shallow common thread.

The pit of my existence was pivoting how to portray myself to people. I was an easy person to fall in love with, and an easier person to be with. I knew exactly what people needed, what people saw, what people didn’t want to see, and what people would assume. I was miserable.

At the end of the day, did anybody actually know me? Love me, care for me? Was it even possible when “me” was such a revolving concept?

I didn’t give people a chance to love me, because I refused to actually show people who I was. And for so long, I told myself that who I was wasn’t good enough.

I needed to be better.

I needed to be smarter.

I needed to be more interesting.

I needed to be funnier.

I needed to be sexier.

I needed to be the best.

I needed to be anybody, except me.

Down the road, I wasn’t even a person. I was just an idea of a person, amusing people with their ideas of me, never faltering to who I actually was.

Because what if I was good enough? What if I actually showed people who I was and they can take it or leave it? What if they would leave it?

It took longer than I care to admit  for me to realize that by living life this way, I was being exactly what everybody else needed, instead of being what I needed for myself. And I had to ask myself, “What’s the point in a life, if you aren’t living your own?” It didn’t matter who stayed and who jumped ship. It didn’t matter if I was no longer “200 Instagram likes worthy” or if I didn’t know every song at the party. I didn’t have to have people like me, if I first liked myself.

It was hard to realize, that being an idea of a person, and being a person, are very two different things.

An idea of a person can have a great smile, an amazing laugh, and be a real top-notch Barbie.

But a person… A person can make mistakes, a person can not be okay, a person can need help, a person can cry, a person can scream bloody murder, a person can be something other than a hot edited girl on social media, a person can be insecure, a person can disagree, a person can be dramatic, a person can be original, a person can love, but most importantly…

a person can be loved.

I had to break down. I had to ask for help. I had to embarrass myself. I had to be the friend I needed, instead of being friendly to everybody else. Instead of looking elsewhere to see who I was, I mustarded up the courage to look into myself. I choose me. I listened to me. And slowly but surely, the pieces became whole. It wasn’t pretty, it wasn’t filtered, but it was real.

And without fear of who might no longer be interested in my life, without fear of the friends I’d see leave, without fear of the family that would surely cut me off, without fear of Instagram likes, or guys downtown,

I had to let myself be a person.

Let it all go, and simply be. a. person.

Signed With Love,

-T