Behind blue eyes

Heya sexy!

Sorry I’ve been so quiet, but this last week has been a hectic one. Deadlines, toddlers who think it’s funny to give parents 4 hours of sleep…that kind of thing. Plus, I didn’t think anybody would notice my short leave of absence (thanks Crez). Flattered.

Anyhoooow…let’s get down to the nitty gritty.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about who I am. Who I REALLY am. To the core of me – what makes me tick? What do I like? Who do I see when I look in the mirror – someone I love, a dear old friend, or is this love clouded by all the things I “need to” change about my physical self? What makes me laugh so much that my stomach hurts? What makes me sad beyond belief? What DEFINES me? What makes me feel more alive than I’ve ever felt? Am I a good person? Am I worthy of other people’s love? Can I keep a secret? What am I passionate about? What single word could be used to best describe me? What legacy will I leave behind? In essence: WHO AM I?

When I grew up, I was a very awkward kid. Outspoken, but awkward. I had these eyes which were wayyyyyy too big for my face, and as a result, I got teased.  A lot. I didn’t have one sporty bone in my body. I was an “early bloomer”. I loved books and writing (not much has changed in this department). I had no self esteem. I was that token kid who always got chosen last for those damned PE (physical exercise) classes. After a while, I just had my mom write me a sick note so I could get out of those stupid classes. I was always deemed “different”, and I was painfully aware of that fact from a very young age.

If I could go back in time, say to where I was about 10 or 12 years old, I’d look myself in the eyes and say, “They’re the ones who are different. You are perfect just the way God made you. Don’t ever change because you don’t fit the mould. Stand out. Stand up. Lift your head.”

But I can’t do that, and over the years I did change – or I tried very hard to. It wasn’t so bad while I was in high school, because I had friends who were just as “different” as I was. We sang in the school choir. Read and wrote poetry under the big trees in the school courtyard. We dressed differently. “Arty people”, in layman’s terms. We were not the “cool kids”, but we didn’t care. We had the “edge”. Of course there was always the overwhelming pressure to be skinny and to attract the attention of gawky boys with pimples, high on a cocktail of hormones. Gag. Equally impossible when you’ve got braces and the school uniform was designed for someone whose body shape is the opposite of yours.

Then came my varsity years, starting in 2005. My self-esteem wasn’t too bad – I was an “adult”, 1200km’s from my hometown and I could pretty much do what I wanted to. I was studying BA Communication Studies majoring in Creative Writing. The world was my oyster. Sure we were heavily restricted as part of our hostel “initiation” period, but looking back I know it was to make sure that the “Head Girls” – those over-eager prom queens/Stepford wives/Martha Stewarts that you encounter in life, whether you are 8 or 80 years old – are brought to earth. Varsity, in my mind, was the great leveller: the playing field was equal.

And then I met him.

And lost him.

And myself.

Over and over and over.

Let’s fast forward to 2007. To a place where he dropped me off at Johannesburg airport. My life’s belongings in a suitcase. My studies long forgotten – years which were supposed to be my most carefree and happy ones, tainted by the horrible, bittersweet aftertaste of this cruel, twisted illusion I called “love”. My mom waiting for me on the other side. I had aged by about 20 years. I didn’t smile – I couldn’t. I was broken. I was empty. I was lost. And I didn’t have a clue who I was, because over the years I had morphed into a weak, watered down version of him.

And then I decided to move to Johannesburg in 2008. Alone. I didn’t know anybody, or have anything. No car, no job, no house. Nothing. Those things were just “details” in my mind. And you know what – this was probably the single most significant thing I ever did for myself. For me. My defining moment. I was alone and I couldn’t hide behind the familiarity and the safety of my family and friends. I had to face the music, and rediscover who I was. My mom cried when I left, my dad said “go”. I owe him for believing in me in that moment, even though I had screwed up so much.

I was alone, but I wasn’t, because I had God. And slowly He took my hand, gained my trust, and lifted me into the blinding light, out of that dark pit that was my so-called life. He lavished me with His love, bathed me until I was white as snow, clothed me in the finest silk, fed me until I didn’t look like a ghost girl anymore. Loved me. And slowly I started smiling again – genuine smiles that would reach my eyes. Writing again. Daring to dream again. Living again. And facing my demons. It had to be done, and I did it.

I owed it to myself to become whole again. How could I expect someone else to love me - nevermind marry me, something that I desired since I was about five years old - if I didn’t even love and know myself. Hard to attach the word “love” to someone or something if you don’t know them or it inside out. Love is permanent. Love is true. Love is good.

And here I am today. A far cry from the girl I was five years ago. A wife. A mom. A whole person in the true sense of the word. Left-off-centre and totally random at times, but 100% me. I was able to give all of me to Adam when we got married, because I knew he could be trusted with what I was giving him. I knew it didn’t mean I would have to change into him – that would just be weird. And sick. He’s a sport freak, I love (read prefer) the company of my books/Kindle. I’m a writer; he struggles with filling in a simple form. He is an early riser; I am the worst morning person you’ll ever encounter. I like going to the opera, cinema nouveau and the theatre; he’d “rather peel his skin off and roll around in salt” than entertaining the fine arts. I am irrational, slightly OCD (or CDO, because that’s how the letters appear in the alphabet) and over-think most things; he centres me and sees the bigger, “this is not as bad as you tell yourself it is” picture. Chalk and cheese. Wine and water. He is North and I am probably South. But he is my true North. And it works, because we are both two whole people.

Of course discovering and rediscovering who you are, is an ongoing process – you are stuck with yourself for life, baby. But it is one that is SO worth it. A journey that you take yourself on and heck, a journey which sometimes reveals some very shocking, surprising and downright nasty things about yourself. But that’s the beauty of it: only you know. Only you have to know. And above all things: only you have to love, yes LOVE all the things about yourself.

Everyone else does already.

Maryke