There is a story I have been telling myself that I have stopped noticing, a story that started living inside me like it is simply the unchangeable shape of what I am,
There is a story I have been telling myself that skips the parts where I surprised myself as it lingers on the parts that confirm the version I decided that was true before I had all the noticeable evidence,
There’s a story I’ve been telling myself that’s both obvious, in the places where I’m protecting my ego, and too harsh, in the places where I’m punishing myself for being human,
When was the last time I actually sat down with myself, and just let the honest accounting happen without deciding in advance what the results were going to happen,
There is a story I have been telling myself that I am not sure anymore whether I am the one narrating it or whether it is the one narrating me into the corners it already chose...
I’ve made myself appear smaller than the evidence by refusing to count the instances when I rose to challenges that I had already determined would overwhelm me,
I’ve made myself appear smaller than the evidence by filing away the moments I handled things gracefully as exceptions rather than allowing them to carry of what I am capable of,
I’ve made myself appear smaller than the evidence because staying small has always felt safer than standing at the full height of what I have actually survived and managed to built with my own two hands,
How much of the ceiling I keep hitting is genuinely the limit of my capabilities, and how much of it is a ceiling I’ve built from the remnants of every time I felt inadequate,
I’ve made myself appear smaller than the evidence that has been sitting there patiently for years now waiting for me to finally look at it with something closer to honesty than just a hobby...
I’ve made myself larger than the truth in places where it was too uncomfortable to confront, I’ve buried that discomfort under something that felt more like confidence,
I have made myself larger than the truth and called that it resilience when what it actually was doing was protecting me from the real deep work that might require me to evolve,
I have made myself larger beyond reality in areas where acknowledging my limitations would have required me to reconsider and potentially rebuild something bigger than me,
Am I actually afraid of finding out that I am less capable in some areas than I claimed or am I more afraid of finding out I am more capable than the smallness I have been hiding inside,
I have made myself larger than the truth and I have made it nearly impossible to find the actual me standing somewhere in bridging both of them...
The honest measure of who I am is not a punishment or a trophy but it is the most useful thing I could possibly hand myself right now that I have been avoiding it the hard way,
The honest measure of who I am would require me to stop borrowing my self-image from the loudest opinion in the room and just sit down with the quieter but more truer version of me that hides nothing despite of my imperfections and failures,
The honest measure of who I am would show me where I have been wasting effort on and where I have been hiding the real thing because of the fear being judged,
What would I actually do differently if I had a clear and honest picture of both where I am stronger than but also admit and where I am weaker and willing to say out loud to anyone including myself,
The honest measure of who I am is the one thing I have been circling around for years, I am starting to understand that the circling itself is the thing I am most afraid to stop doing...
Watchwords:
The story narrates me into corners it chose,
I filed the proof away and stayed small,
Inflated the story until the truth was buried,
Two distortions hiding the actual me between them,
Circling the honest measure and refusing to land...
Here is Tikatarot, who dares you to answer the question, “Who am I?”..
As and will always be reminding you to dream: