When you’ve listened to one narrative your whole life, it’s hard to fathom that you have the power and authority to re-write it. It’s not easy, but it can be done—and I did it.

#storytime

I always knew I didn't fit into my family but never knew why. Things that made others laugh and brought them joy didn’t do the same for me. I wanted more depth and intensity, and it didn’t seem anyone in my family noticed that more could exist.

Growing up, I was always described as the “challenging” child. In fact, I can’t recall one story ever being shared where positive words were used to describe me as a child or teenager.

🙈 The running joke was, “Tabitha always had to be the teacher, the mother, and the nurse when the girls played, and poor Amy just had to do whatever Tabitha told her to do.”

My strong personality was a constant topic of conversation, with numerous examples highlighting my hot temper and bossiness.

🙈 There’s a story my mom loves to tell about one Mother’s Day when I wanted to use the blender to make milkshakes. I was probably eleven and insisted that she could stay outside while I did it on my own. Needless to say, I made a giant mess when I forgot to put the top on the blender.

🙈 Then there was the time I was mad about my curfew. I came home to find my parents at a friend's house and called them, anger boiling out of me, because I didn’t understand why I needed to be home if they weren’t even going to be there.

🙈 Let’s not forget when my brother made me mad, and I threw my hairbrush, hitting him square in the forehead from the other side of the room.

🙈 Or that Christmas when I was called ungrateful and spoiled because I figured out what the “big gift” was before opening it.

The list of stories goes on, but not one painted me as someone who has heart or who cares. Not one mentioned a time when I showed up for someone else.

For years, the only narrative that played inside my head was the one they told of me.

By the time I finished college, I so firmly believed this narrative that I spent the next umpteen years trying to change it. The only thing I ever wanted was to hear my name attached to a positive description. I wanted them to be proud of me. But the story had already been written, and there was nothing I could do to change the ending.

The more work I did on healing, the farther I drifted. With each layer of healing, I would outgrow one person and meet someone new who was vibrating just slightly higher. These years were a revolving door of friends and people who came in and out, each with a very targeted lesson for me.

Eventually, it felt like I was living two different lives.
🦋 In one, I was who I wanted to be. I was getting validation from the outside world; they told me I sparkled, I was positive, I made a difference. They told me how safe they felt with me and that my work was important.
🕷 Yet, the moment I crossed the threshold of a family party, I regressed to that misunderstood teenager. It didn’t matter if the whole world validated me; the people I craved it from didn't.

As I began to re-write the narrative of who I was and the truth of the past, it started to come together. I had a sassy, spicy, ghost pepper attitude, but I always did what was expected of me, even if I made sure you knew I thought it was unfair or stupid.

I always showed up, I helped my mom take care of my grandmother for years, the only one of the five grandchildren to do so. Still, they told stories about me being selfish. I began to resent that the good I did was constantly overshadowed, and I felt undeserving of winning or getting what I wanted. But after years of healing, therapy, coaching, and more, I knew my worth. I knew I was a good person, and that the person they saw me as didn’t exist.

I begged them to accept my life choices as my own—my desire to walk my own career path, be in an open relationship, move where I felt called. I reached the point where I didn’t need validation; I just needed them to not question and judge my life. That was it. If they could do that, I could keep them. It proved too big of a request, and I needed to choose me.

My rules of life:

✨ If it’s not a fuck yeah, then it’s a no.
✨ I don’t see myself returning to a corporate 9-5 job, and lectures about health insurance and retirement won’t change my mind.
✨ I have no idea if my next relationship will be open or not, but when the time comes, yes, I will share it with my audience, and opinions will still not be welcome.
✨ I won’t apologize for any decisions I make. I’m done.
✨ If you don’t like the terms of my life, you are welcome to see yourself out.

It took me years to heal enough to have the courage and strength to write the rules I needed. But my life is so much better because of it. I only get so much time here, and at the end of the day, I don’t want to spend it in ways that don’t set my soul on fire.