Acceptance

In the last year, I've had to accept many things I didn't want to accept.  The dissolve of my marriage, the end of old friendships, the inevitable march of age across my face and body, the sad fact that I cannot help students who will not help themselves.  So many things.


I fought accepting some of these things for a very long time.  For years, in one case, because I didn't want to be someone who had given up, given in, failed.  But now, at the end of another year, I am coming to realize that accepting the things that we cannot change--cliche as it may be--might be the only thing that separates us from the wild kingdom that, on instinct, fights change to the death.


Gretel Ehrlich wrote, "to be tough is to be fragile; to be tender is to be truly fierce."  This concept has been foreign to me until this year.  I used to think showing any vulnerability or fragility was akin to weakness and, in order to be taken seriously, I needed the world to see me as confident, capable, and without need of help.  My mom once said that I try so hard to make the world see me as strong when in reality I'm a pretty fragile girl.  She's right.  


I've been thinking a lot about what others think of me.  I try not to let the rest of the population define or influence who I am or how I feel about myself, but the end of the year is a time for reflection and, well, I guess that's where I am.  It occurred to me the other day that a large number of the people I've known throughout my life know two versions of me: snarky, loud, and opinionated or dramatically loud and opinionated.  It's an easy role to play when you don't want anyone to know how hurt or scared you really are.  But, I don't want to live in that costume anymore.  And this year, I've made a real concentrated effort to be my most authentic self as much as I can.


I'm telling the truth more, mostly to myself, and I'm admitting when I need help.  I'm accepting that the most honest fact of my life is that I am scared--often--of not having control, of things slipping out of my grasp, of being less than perfect, of not living up to  my own expectations, of disappointing myself.  I'm scared all the time, but the one emotion that always trumps that fear--these days--is joy.  I am happy in my career (about which I am passionate to a fault), I am blessed with a loving family and the most supportive and brilliant friends, my students inspire me everyday, and I believe love will find me again someday.  I am happy to be this self, this woman, this ongoing process and project.  I accept that I'm not complete, that I may never know what that means, and after years of fighting that, I'm at peace in a way I haven't been before.


If this blog post had a soundtrack, it'd probably be this song: