“that does not define me”
literally …
i know, usually, affirmations are positively worded. i know i could choose to reword this one to fit the “proper format” of a positive affirmation.
but this is what has been on my mind and heart for a while now. and it is powerful. the way it is.
it pertains to a great many things for me right now. but mostly, it is a rejection. of all the shit and dogma i have heard all my life (is this what women mean by the “you’ll know at 40” thing they say?!) … it is a push back and rejection of anything that i don’t want to stick to me.
no matter what it is. no matter the intention of the definition … i choose what defines me.
and exactly how it is used.
i have a vagina but i have never been really “a girl.” there’s a whole culture around that feeling i have always had nowadays. and that whole culture labels me AFAB gender queer demigirl. but i … am a tomboy. that’s what i am. because i get to choose. it’s up to me. i’m a tomboy and i like it. i don’t need to tape down my tits and i also don’t need to wear a bra. because neither are comfortable. and it’s my body and my choice. i don’t need to strap one on or date a specific gender to fit some narrative someone else has made up in their head about me … in fact, i don’t need to date at all.
i have autism but i have never really been openly cool about calling myself autistic. i prefer to say i have autism. and there’s a whole culture of people who will tell me i have internalized ableism because of that preference as to how i define myself. not kidding. for me, autism is an area of need. it is something i do wish i could get over. it sucks. and feels like living in a prison a lot of the time. to hear everything, and remember it all, and have it replay in your brain over and over … it’s something that takes a long time to learn to shut off/turn down so it doesn’t drive you mad. to feel things differently, so the little string that is loose on my tshirt seam actually itches me. it itches in such a way that the itch spreads over my entire body and i *wish* it would be ok to just stop everything, take off all my clothes, and scratch. everywhere, even under my hair, until the first itched layer of my skin is all off. then burn the fucking tshirt. it sucks to feel like you’re missing something, as in social cues, all the time. it isn’t fun to be trapped in repetitive behaviours that dictate your day. maybe i would miss being able to smell something and timetravel back to the place i first smelled something lovely. maybe i would miss the tingles that spread all over my whole body when i hear some beautiful song. maybe i would miss being able to hyperfixate on something until it is a completed project that no one else could possibly manage to finish. it’s just part of who and how i am, it does not define me.
i am a mom, but it does not define me. i was a person for years before i was a mom. 24 of them, actually. full years. as my very own person before i was somehow attached to this identifier label as So-And-So’s Mom. but before … i was actually So-And-So’s Daughter. those things, equally, do not define me either.
i have been told i am a victim, for having suffered abuse in my past. but i decided, no … that does not define me.
i have been told that i am oppressed because i was born without a penis. but i decided, no … that does not define me.
i have been told i shouldn’t be able to walk, let alone move and lift and do the things i do. because i decided, no … my back injury does no define me. my heart condition does not define me.
i am not a summative of the bad things that have happened to me.
it’s so serendipitous that this is the prompt today. or maybe it’s just that we see links where we want to. we make connections where we hope they exist already.
it *has* been heavy on my mind …
“that does not define me”
#MorningThoughts