The Courage to Be Seen

Not asking permission anymore…

Good morning,

I’ve taken a little break this past month and to be honest, I wasn’t even sure if I had anything to say today. What I write today may be nonsensical, but I need to get back to my roots here.

Lately, I have been so preoccupied with an existential crisis, that I haven’t had a moment to pause and tap into my creativity. If you know me, you know that I am not the best version of myself when I don’t lean into my creative outlets. I need to have outlets for what swirls around in my head— if I don’t, I start to go a little cuckoo bananas.

These past few months have been confusing to say the least. Every time I think I’m sure about something, I get knocked on my ass with a million internal follow-up thoughts and questions that demand to be reflected upon. It’s been exhausting.

I’m halfway to 38 and it’s no secret that I do not have children.

One minute, I feel like I need to race toward whatever it takes to have a baby now— and the next, I remind myself that I still have time. Time to do what I want for me first. There are still things I want to accomplish before I trade it all in for hyper-dependance, sleepless nights, and constant over-stimulation. The truth is, I’m not ready. I’ve been so caught up in the desire for massive change that I convinced myself rushing into this was the only answer.

Motherhood isn’t something you can turn off when you want to, it is forever. Your body and mind are no longer your body and mind. Your weekends are no longer your weekends. You no longer have free time. You’re lucky if you can blow dry your hair and brush your teeth in those first few months.

Yes, it’s beautiful and it’s powerful, there’s no denying that— but two truths do exist at once in this scenario. It is wonderful and it is fucking hard.

I’ve spent my entire life living in my own shadow. As a kid and teenager, I was painfully self-conscious and shy. I used humor to mask my insecurity— I was the class clown, constantly driving my teachers insane. Because if I could keep people entertained, maybe they wouldn’t have time to laugh at me for being on welfare, or for having cops in my driveway every few weeks.

Humor became my coping mechanism. Because if you don’t laugh… you cry, right?

I don’t think being funny is a problem— in fact, I’m grateful for my sense of humor and my ability to find light in dark situations. It’s saved me more times than I can count, and it’s propelled me forward in life. But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel behind. The motor’s been screaming, but the propeller’s only been running at half speed. When I look at where I came from compared to where I am now, I’m honestly in awe. Most days, I can’t even believe it. But when I look at where I am now compared to where everyone else is, I feel left out.

All that clowning around in school made me fall behind. I was never focused in class— and combined with everything going on at home, it eventually led me to drop out in Grade 10. It’s one of the biggest regrets of my life. I wish I had finished. I wish I’d gone to university. And more than anything, I wish I’d had the courage back then to ask for help.

You might be thinking, “Why didn’t you just go back later? Why not go to university eventually?” The truth is— I had to work. I didn’t have any support, and the only way I could get as far away as possible from the life that was tearing me down was to work full-time. I’ve been working my ass off since I was 14 years old. Not by choice— by necessity. I know a degree isn’t the only path to success. But when you hit one of these panic years, it’s hard not to think about all the doors that might’ve opened— if you had just had that Bachelor’s degree.

I digress.

This is what I meant when I said I have nothing to talk about— everything feels like a jumbled mess right now. You know those old office phones with the squiggly wire that connects the handle to the base? And how it gets all twisted and janky, and when you try to answer it, it won’t fucking budge and just yanks your head toward the receiver? That’s exactly how I feel right now.

My life has been spent worrying about and taking care of the people I love— and the kicker? No one even asked me to do that. I’ve taken on this invisible responsibility for literally everyone I care about. It’s consumed my brain for so many years that I don’t know how not to be the first responder in everyone’s life. I want to turn it off so badly— to just not give a shit. I don’t want to care so much when my friends have vices that are hurting them. I don’t want to keep trying to help someone who’s never going to change. It’s not my problem. And yet, I still feel like I have to be the one to help— every time. I know this stems back to my childhood. I was always the little girl begging people to make the right choice— to do the right thing. Nine times out of ten, my cries went unanswered. I’m fully aware of how that wounding has followed me into adulthood, and unlearning it has been one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. It also reminds me that I’ve already felt like a mother my entire life. No, I haven’t birthed life from my body— but I’ve spent decades caring for the people around me. Mentally, emotionally, spiritually, physically, and financially.

People have taken advantage of how resourceful and “git ’er done” I am— and yet I kept playing that role. It’s so deeply ingrained in my spirit that I don’t always know how to redirect that energy elsewhere. I will say I’ve gotten much better at it over the years— usually when I’m immersed in my own creativity and life. But that always ebbs and flows. I can always tell when I’ve been neglecting my own garden— because I’ll be out weeding and pruning everyone else’s until my knuckles are blue and my fingers bleed.

It’s always easier to pour energy into other people, because that energy deflects from the work you need to do in your own life. And look, I take pretty good care of myself. But I’ve lived through a lot, and there’s still a lot buried inside me. I don’t know if it’ll ever get fully untangled in this lifetime. Still, I’m proud of who I am. I’m proud of what I’ve made out of the chaos I came from. But I can’t shake the ache in my bones— the feeling that I’m still not who I’m meant to be.

My goal for the rest of this year is to take up space— to be fully seen for who I really am, without letting outside voices shrink or shape me. Over the past decade, I’ve dabbled in a lot of different things, and I’ve let other people’s opinions get into my head. I don’t want to do that anymore. No one will ever truly know what it’s been like to walk in my shoes— so why should I care if someone doesn’t agree with how I show up in the world?

Every time I’ve tried something new that genuinely lights me up, some sad, jealous person has shown up and tried to shove me back into the dark. And the worst part? I’ve let them. That pisses me off more than anything. And I refuse to let it happen again. I’ve held myself back in so many ways by being the people-pleaser and by dimming my light to accommodate people who lurk around in the dark. I’m don’t with that.

I think people like me get stuck because we’re afraid to be seen for who we truly are. It’s taken me a long time to even begin to understand what that means— and honestly, I’m still figuring it out. When you’re the go-to person for everyone… the one who’s had a tough go, the one who’s held herself back— it’s hard to trust your path. It’s hard to believe that your path is meant to be different from everyone else’s.

But you are different.

You’ve been through things most people couldn’t imagine. You grew up differently. You’ve carried more than your share. You’re not meant to be like everyone else. That’s your superpower, and no four year degree can teach it. That’s a strength most people will never be able to claim. Stand tall in that truth.

Maybe your life doesn’t look like everyone else’s because something bigger and brighter is waiting for you. Your life is waiting for you— to show up fully, unapologetically, and confidently. For a while this year, I thought motherhood was the only way to stir things up, to create meaning, to finally feel like I was moving forward. But I’m realizing now— it’s me. I’m the one who needs to stir things up. I’m the change I’ve been waiting for.

This time I’m not waiting to be chosen… I am choosing myself.

Nicole xo