This Is Me

Unmasked and Make-Up Free

I have always wanted to write, however, fear disguised as realism held me back.

So, I became a teacher.

For years I had nursed a glass of wine and on the occasion I found myself alone, would stare at the blank screen wondering what I could say. What indeed did I have to say, I would ask the bare walls.

I felt like an empty vessel that was simultaneously overflowing with painfully unacknowledged desire and unmanageable emotions.

Ten, fifteen years passed, I got married, got divorced, got sad, got medicated, got drunk, had a breakdown, went to rehab.

There I realized that fear fueled by shame had held me back.

I was so ashamed of everything that I was that I had forgotten everything I wanted to be.

Sometimes the realization of what I had lost: half my life lived in fear, on the sidelines, watching and cheering everyone else racing by, made me physically sick.

Comparing myself to others brought me intense misery. The reality of being branded an addict and an alcoholic single mother. Of the searing unexpected hate I felt from others, of the deep shame I had to acknowledge and confront. I felt like I couldn’t breathe.

Then, I realized, finally, I had something to say.