For the longest time, I’ve been ashamed of being a late bloomer in love. I didn’t date until after university, and my “firsts” happened a bit later than others. I thought that were was something fundamentally wrong with me. I believed for the longest time that I was unlovable.
Brené Brown says that in order for shame to be diminished, we need to speak to it. We need to voice it out loud; we need to shed light on it. So that’s what I’m going to do now.
I made myself believe for well over a year that I didn’t need to write anymore. I figured I’d stick to my journal, maybe write a blog post or two with a more professional edge. Along the way, I lost a sense of who I was.
I’m a writer. Always have been, always will be. And although I may not write here as often as I used to, I know that this blog – the pen and paper – will always welcome me home. That’s one narrative I’ve ignored.
The narrative that I want to rewrite is my love story. Believing that I was unlovable and unworthy of love and a relationship has plagued me since I was barely a teenager. It’s kept me from following my heart, telling people how I feel, and going after what I truly want. That stops now.
I’ve actually had success in love and relationships. They may have not turned out the way I wanted or expected, but they served a great purpose. I have experienced love. I know that people deeply care about me. I have been taken care of, seen, heard, understood, and uplifted. These men have taught me so many things, and I am eternally grateful. Most of all, I’ve learned to love myself and who I am – and to never, ever give that up for someone else.
This may be a short post, but it’s a significant moment for me. It’s a new beginning. And I am ready to experience the rest of my life with all of the love I’ve experienced, and with all of the love I have yet to give and receive.