The Shape Of You

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I clocked 7000 steps this morning as I circled the first level of my home talking to a friend. We have fallen into this habit, texting and calling most days as I begin my day and she ends hers. Most days, it is a recount of our days, the inane details that I am sure both of us forget the moment we say our byes. Then, there are days when we go deeper, into our childhoods, dissecting the influences that shaped our lives. We pause, the past pain sitting heavy in the silences, to be acknowledged and set free.

As I let the water wash over me and thought of the shape of me both literally and metaphorically, I realized how much of my behavior even today is a response to childhood experiences, some traumatic, some inane. The coping skills I picked up as I defined my identity, my sense of self is still functioning from that childhood space.

The way I react to what my husband says, is a reflection of how I have watched my mom and dad interact. The way I parent is a reflection of what I perceived as missing or smothering as a child. The way I interact with my current circle of friends is a reflection of the circle I had or craved growing up. Recognizing past patterns and the reasons behind that behavior is an epiphany. The bigger question is how I am incorporating this knowing into my daily life. It requires cognizance to break cycles through time. It takes a pause, a moment to stop reacting and then direct that action in a different way.

Over the past few years, I have seen this play out as a centering of the self, it has taken the shape of reminding myself I am a product of my circumstance, I do not have to be a victim of that mindset. It has been in the form of “No(s)” that were painful to voice. It has taken the shape of staying silent when words bubble and simmer just inside my lips. It has been in walking away instead of engaging. It has become this new sense of feeling complete as is, without the need for external validation.

I am.
I am enough.

The shape of me will be formless because it won’t matter.

Personal reflections

Laksh View All →

Author. Parent.

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