So tomorrow is the big day I go it alone and move into a cute little terrace on my Jack Jones.
I’m 26, I’ve lived away from home since I was 18. But never alone. It’s scary, daunting, and exciting.
I want to do this. I feel I have so much to prove.
For years I have been babied. Sometimes unintentionally. However, I feel my short, clumsy chubby- cheeked self gets modi-coddled and judged on living an adult life.
Yeh, sometimes It’s helpful. I think people are drawn to my child like self. Always the one who’s described as cute.
I’m forgetful, I have dyspraxia (working out how to put a belt on or sometimes even shoes is a task!). And possibly due to this, family often think I need so much more help than I do.
I’m an eldest child, eldest grandchild on one side. But still seem to be the one who gets looked after. Imagine feeling someone is patting you on the head saying “there there little one I’ll help you”, without the physical contact (I’d flip at that, you can’t touch this.)
I’m the one who is academically bright. But seen as common sense stupid. It’s patronising when someone says “oh god don’t let Beth do that” infact. It’s painful, it hurts.
We discussed it in therapy. Maybe there is an under lying currant of wanting to protect me. Because I’ve been the emotionally vulnerable one. The kid that saw too much.
I am no longer that child.
I am a grown woman, scarred by things I never dealt with. Screaming to be heard and have my independence. To move on.
I’m talked over, told what to do, how to do it. Without asking.
I CAN DO IT. And if I can’t, I will ask for help. Let me make my own mistakes (even if that does involve me grating part of my thumb off with a cheese grater).
I appreciate you’re help. I love the people who help me, when I truly need and ask for it.
Just let me be heard. Let me be a woman in my own right.
I’m going to be okay.