It wasn't always thus. Not that I was false, more that I wasn't truly real.
I am a people-pleaser to the core. I'm not sure why, or what drove that instinct in me, but the need to please and to fit in was so incredibly overpowering. For much of the first portion of my life, I was a chameleon. I could adapt and blend in and everything was malleable and up for debate. It was kind of like Julia Roberts' Maggie in The Runaway Bride: with every new boyfriend came a new favorite type of egg dish. Finally, she realized her own favorite was Eggs Benedict. She'd been so busy trying to be perfect to please someone else that she didn't know her own life.
Hello? Hand raised?
Yep. If we hung out long enough and you decided you didn't like Italian food.... okay, that might be a deal breaker. But let's say you decided CCR was the worst band ever, then I would never ever mention that I like their music, or get very wishy-washy about my opinion on their work.
For example: Star Trek? Haven't watched an episode since he left but yep, loved it when he was here. (But to be fair, I'm still a fan of TNG and DS9 -- I just don't have my DVR set for every single time an episode comes on). Started liking Pearl Jam again after he was gone; stopped listening to the local morning show. You get the idea -- I hadn't been a huge fan of this or that or the other, and I quashed my own likes and dislikes in order to possibly gain some sort of advantage.
I'm not sure what triggers the change in someone to finally stop doing that and own themselves at last. For me, it was a lot of different things, all over the course of the rest of my life so far. Mostly, though, it was the realization that I didn't need to be artificial. People were either going to like me or not. It had taken long enough for me to learn to like, then love, myself. I didn't have the energy to convince others to do so. If you like me, great. If not, well, hate it for you but wish you well.
Being real is so much easier -- why didn't I do this back in my teens? (Easy answer: small town, and those "people pleaser" tendencies).
Real is knowing that I'm most at home in jeans, a tee, a hoodie, and a comfy pair of tennis shoes or my beloved Docs. Real is laughing at my own awkwardness. Real is knowing my customer service voice went to Ivy League and my "come at me bro" voice is country as can be. Real is facing my shortcomings every day and knowing I gave it my best.
Real is pain, indescribable and sometimes almost unbearable. Real is joy from the depths of that same wounded soul. Real is walking around with huge holes in my life and not being embarrassed by any of it. Real is laughing with your girlfriends and knowing that they have your back and you have theirs. Real is holding their hands when bad stuff goes down - just like they held your hair when.... well, you know.
I'll take real any day of the week.
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