Here’s something to ponder…how much of your personality has been sacrificed on the alter of acceptance? How much did you silence your inner voice to fit in, to belong, to be liked. There’s a lot I see written recently about the pressure on the female of this,species to be liked. How our behaviours are molded to that goal. How we don’t like or trust those who don’t overtly make themselves likeable. I watched a TedEx on this subject earlier this week and I have had a few ahem, debates, recently with my two sons about whether they actually recognize my parental authority at all. So far, so banal. Then I found an old diary.

Now, I used to start diaries with great frequency and alacrity only to stumble after a few weeks. This one was no different except I started it when l was older, 19. Then I picked it up again when I was almost 50. I also have another one started when 8 was 17. the difference? The one when I was with a boyfriend and supposedly living the perfect undergraduate life is the one where I don’t recognise myself, my voice, it’s so insipid. There’s no emotion really. The BF and I ‘made love’, we went to his family and babysat for his sister, I put up with long periods of silence from him whenever I said something that he didn’t like. In short I was playing a role that wasn’t me. The irony is that everyone else in our circle of friends thought we were perfect for each other. When I split with him (To go out with the man who became my husband and fathered my children) my friends were horrified. I was the villain. I’ve always thought of myself as such. And then. I read my diary and I heard a thin pathetic version of myself. The pages written when I was at boarding school were so much feistier. And passionate. What happened?

I lost myself. I wanted to be liked. I’d do almost anything to be approved of. This was a pattern that has continued to this day. Except my husband now has made me understand that he loves ME, not a version of me. And that is giving me the courage to be me to others. It’s really really hard to do. A lifetime of rejection fear is not easily undone but I’ slowly doing it. And that’s it really. This blog has been my effective diary since 2012, the longest I’ve ever managed. Perhaps I should go back and see how my voice has changed…but who cares really? It’s now that matters. Am I me now? I hope so. I think so. I will make it so.