I’ve been sitting on this post, for the past two months, scared to publish and share with the world. But alas, here we are. This is the hardest thing I’ve ever done.
28 years old, looking at my bank account simultaneously laughing and crying. Living in Brooklyn, working as a personal trainer/entrepreneur, in love with a world that sometimes doesn’t feel like it loves me back.
Lost. High. Excited. Depressed. Anxious. Nervous. Caffeinated. So many emotions, I never knew I could handle or that these all could be felt in the span of a day. Digging into my own psyche – living solo. Being alone in a city filled with thousands of people.
No one will ever really know how I’ve felt these past seven months, nor should they, but I think it’s worth mentioning.
When all I want to be is strong and confident, when that’s my job – feeling like a failure, feeling like the world can see me broken – afraid to see anyone because of this.
When I find something attractive or exciting I go full throttle with it. Men, work, books, music, everything. There’s this attachment that I tend to get too involved with, something that taps into my soul that’s so unique and different than I ever expected, and when it turns out to be not so attracting anymore, I get crushed. Investing fully in something you’re passionate about isn’t always a great feeling, yet I know it’s (mostly) necessary to pursue whatever it is you’re passionate about. The ups and downs, the doubts, the push and pull of each interaction that I encounter from what I enjoy doing or being surrounded with has taken such a toll on me physically.
I cry more now. I’m crying now while writing this post. I’m tapping into a part of me that I’ve never seen exposed. There were periods in my life where I couldn’t remember the last time I showed any type of emotion. Sad movies never had an effect on me, injuries never made me cry…and I do believe it’s because I was brought up in an environment that was so male dominated.
I grew up in suburban Baltimore, with a yard, and space and a bunch of guys. Most of the people I hold so dearly to me are guys, so by nature, I tend to be “tougher.” I played sports, my best memories of gifts that I received involved bikes and rollerblades vs. dolls and clothing. I always knew I was strong, physically and mentally, and I think it has to do with who I surrounded myself with.
Fast forward to present day, I’m still involved in physical activities (see: CrossFit) but I’ve never really tapped into my emotions until this year. Understanding and knowing what I want to feel in everything I do has opened my world. I’m forcefully pushing myself to follow my gut and my heart, and it’s allowing more of my feminine side to be exposed. Taking moments to focus on me and understand where all of these feelings are coming from has been (annoyingly) beautiful. In the most confusing time of my tenure in NYC, I took a vinyasa style yoga class and I literally cried through movement and felt every emotion that I tried to keep inside pour out. So many feelings were kept inside, and tuning in to myself brought everything out. This was one of the most mind-blowing, incredible experiences I’ve ever had.
I’m learning now that strong doesn’t always refer to the physical sense. Being strong to me means being vulnerable. Showing emotions, expressing how you feel. When I was telling people that I was moving to New York – the majority told me “oh, you gotta be tough” “don’t say sorry when you accidentally run into people on the street” “stand your ground.” So I tried to do all of those things, and in some cases it made sense, but that’s not me naturally. I’ve been thinking so much that I have to be strong and I took that as being emotionless, and 6 months later, it’s finally hitting me that this isn’t true.