think they knew. I’m not her anymore and it’s almost insulting when people think we’re one and the same.It shouldn’t be insulting, of course.
I should love every piece of me, even the parts that no longer exist. But that’s not the case. Learning to love myself in the present is strenuous enough.I used to think that my stubbornness meant that I didn’t care about anyone else’s opinion, that I had such a concrete identity that no one could budge it.
But I’m slowly realizing that society has shaped me in a million different ways. It’s swayed me into believing certain ‘truths’ without me consciously realizing what was happening.The problem is… realizing I’ve been wrong about certain aspects of myself hasn’t given me a magical aha moment.