I'm (finally, and happily) re-meeting myself again

Because who hasn't lost themselves to heartbreak before?

I went through a breakup a few years back. To be honest, it threw me for a loop.

It wasn’t really about the relationship or guy in question. Actually, it was my own being that received the brunt of the questioning.

Why didn’t it last? What could have been different?

Wasn’t I pretty enough?

Funny enough?

Compelling enough to stay?

Surely not, or things would be different. Surely not, or he might have been settled. All these hidden insecurities splashed to the surface as the door closed, the loss hit, and the tears began to flow.

Leaving it alone was not an option. As the over-analyzing, over-achieving, and slightly insane person I am, I tried figuring it out. What was I lacking that I could make up for? What could I do to change who I was?

Try harder. Be smarter.

Fill all the gaps that caused the pain.

I leaned into all the senses of self I hadn’t yet magnified, to try prove it. To him? To me? I wasn’t quite sure. But proving it to someone out there that if I missed the mark, I could surely improve my aim.

A summer in striving

So for a summer, I strived. I expended. I tried to figure out it all out, in a different, better version of me.

I didn’t want to be a different Paige, per se, but perhaps a better one. A louder one. A more fun one. A Paige with a few tweaks and edits and changes. In the chaos of an uprooted identity, I just wanted to be noticed. No wallflower was ever cherished for its placement, was it? No shy creature ever got stopped for its softness, right?

At least, that’s the story I told myself.

So for a summer, I partied. I planned. I played. I stretched myself thin, casting aside quietness for more people, more parties, and more applause. If my quietness was a point of shame, I could choose something different. If my solitude did me in, I would find a way to be seen. For a whole summer, I leaned into the most extroverted of myself possible, believing that after expending my all, perhaps then I would feel finally settled and seen.

So I did. And I learned I could.

But I didn’t realize I would also find the end of me.

A summer in Switzerland

Fast forward a year down the road. That road led me to a small mountain town in Huemoz, Switzerland, just outside a Christian study shelter named L’Abri. While hard to describe, L’Abri is a place for travelers from all over the world to stay, eating three (delicious) meals a day, participating in lots of communal activity, and finding time, space, and rest to commune with God through our own solitary means.

L’Abri offered slowness.

And in an environment like this one, the naturally quiet might actually have the upper hand.

With so much to see and reflect upon, the Swiss Alps naturally call for someone to notice. With so much to truth read and write and ponder, shelves of books call for readers to rifle through. Even the Pslams which I poured over day and night, called for much patience and prayers, more than I was used to giving at the frantic pace I’d grown used to.

Slowly, I noticed the skills I was trying to squash last summer were not actually pitfalls, but strengths. Perhaps, those natural wirings in me were not shortcomings, but rather, skills.

Could that be?

As my grip began to loosen, I became more honest with myself, pouring my heart out to strangers about my inner worlds. How tired I was. How I longed to be noticed. How much time I’d spent expending on something I wasn’t meant to be.

This honesty opened me up to more people like me. Travelers who valued silence, teachers who valued searching, even newfound writing friends, who taught me the life of a writer isn’t just one of pounding pages on keyboards, but time spent pondering. And praying. And peacemaking. Not with people, all the time, but with our words and ideas, and even soundless prayers. There was inner work that required a patient heart, and I started realizing that perhaps those inner parts of me that cried for peace weren’t broken, but part of my planned personhood all along.

Here, I was reminded that my demeanor wasn’t a deficit in personality, but rather delighted in.

It wasn’t the first time I’d heard this, but it was perhaps the first time in awhile that it clicked: a belief that I was seen and celebrated, not for who I strived for, but for who I was all along.

Meeting more of me

The thing about relationships, I’m told, is that it’s never about “them." At least not when it comes to our sense of self. It’s not about the breakup, or the boy who didn’t text you back, or the friend or group of friends who broke your heart. In fact, they could say all the right things, that you’re a good person, and that it’s not you, it’s them, and by gosh, they might even mean it, too.

But thankfully, and fortunately, all this wisdom is true.

It was always about me. How I viewed myself. And really, if I was willing to accept the parts of myself I’ve chosen, and even the ones I didn’t.

It’s funny. Looking back, one of my favorite things about this relationship was how I never felt the need to strive to get this person’s attention. Even in my quiet, most reserved personality (which I’ve since learned categorized in more suitable ways) I always felt permission to be myself. Not striving. Not exerting. Not trying to be someone I wasn’t. I was always just me, and he came and stayed in my inner circle as-is, even if that time was temporary.

I love that reminder. Because the truth hasn’t changed. No matter what my social medias or subconscious or inherent self-worth try to testify, I was always enough. I still am. I just forgot for a bit, which I guess is bound to happen in heartbreak.

There’s this quote from Georgia O’Keeffe I sent to my friends during my “extrovert” area, stating: “I have done nothing all summer but wait for myself to be myself again,” thinking my “new and improved” self was the striving to celebrate.

I didn’t realize I would take another year to fully lean into it. And it only took six plane rides (and a couple trains) to get there.

I don’t know if I’ll ever stop wrestling with this idea that I should be louder, smarter, funnier, or prettier. I’m not sure the shame will ever fully subside when I RSVP “no” to an event I wish to attend, or stand silenced in a room I wish to command. But today, and tomorrow, and hopefully the week after next, I will be more okay with who I am. I will take breaks. I will read books. I will notice the people in crowded rooms and find small strawberries stowed on winding roads. I will speak softly, laugh loudly, and write boldly, as I feel most true to myself to do.

And it may be slow, and it may be soundless, but walking the winding road to greet myself once again, I’m happy to get re-introduced.

Because truth be told, I like who I’ve met along the way.