A Price For Peace

The life I’ve been living since I’ve turned thirty has been unlike anything I ever imagined. I have no real complaints about where I’ve ended up in the whirlwind of events that led to me having to survive on my own. I feel more at peace with both the challenges I face, the choices I have made & the path I am now on.

I’ve had my share of support from those who didn’t really have to do a damn thing for me, and now I’m doing everything in my power to make up for their kindness. I work hard at a job I love & the fruits of my labor are already reaping due acknowledgement and reward. My momentum in voice-over is gradually being revived. Everyone who has ever lifted a finger for me has not been forgotten. I have held onto each significant act of kindness given to me & vowed to repay them in kind.

Honestly, I thought that my world had expanded and blossomed to its full extent. I was wrong. Living as the female I quietly always knew I was has not only been emotionally eye-opening for me, but deeply revealing of how much I still don’t know about myself. All the things I mentioned in the first paragraph that I feel at peace about have played a part in what has seemed like a rapid evolution of my truest nature.

In this moment, I’m so happy I could cry. Though I’m still striving to reclaim all that I’ve lost, I feel zero stress. Things are not perfect, but I accept all that has been offered to me in all of its imperfection.

Every opportunity. Every desire. Every chance to connect.

So much is clear to me now. What I want out of this life. How I want to spend my time. The list of goals that motivate me to keep pressing on. The kind of people who I want to surround myself with. The type of person I would share a bed with…Truly comforting to now be privy to such classified information previously locked away.

So much about my twenties were twisted, fractured, and better forgotten. Thank goodness I’m incredibly optimistic about my thirties being the best years of my life. Cautiously optimistic, but optimistic enough that I’ve dived headfirst into all that being a respectable, responsible,  independent woman can offer.

However, if I’m truly being honest with myself, this cultivated peace does come at a price. Sacrifices of both physical and emotional comfort. The certainty that no matter what, there will always be someone or something serving as my anchor. For the past four years, my “anchor” has been my self. Though I have done well to fortify my psyche to weather many harsh storms, even I experience moments when my anchor reveals its weakness due to a choice I made. Or worse, offering a piece of myself only to be tossed to the side because I foolishly forgot my self & expected more.

And in those moments of weakness, I remember that I only have myself to blame. Terribly lonely, yet frustratingly motivating.

This is the first time of my life I only have myself to answer to. The first time I am in a place where allowing myself to experience the harshness of reality rather than running away makes sense. Logic continues to prevail were emotions would break me…as is most preferable.


HRT: 200 days later…

Pixiv @ hadean92
Every so often, reality has a way of hitting us, repeatedly, like a ton of bricks. You don’t expect it. You don’t encourage it. But it comes, without warning, like a weight you can’t shake.

And sometimes, we don’t care either way.

Loneliness. Not simply the awareness of it, but the belittling of it. Spending years throwing the blanket of work and career-related ambitions over it. Pretending it wasn’t really there and laughing at it whenever it tried to peek out from underneath.

I honestly accepted that my reality was simply to work hard, succeed, release my mum of my presence to no longer be a burden to her, and then, to perhaps have a chance at a relationship that could be more than just off-handed flirtations and warm hugs.

For a long time, I was able to deal with keeping loneliness under wraps. Not talking about it and only bringing it up in jest among friends. I didn’t think I was lonely. And, to be honest, I still don’t think I am. I’m so much happier to be living true to myself. Who should be lonely when they love themselves, right?

Though reality has a way of telling a different narrative. The reality I’ve been keeping to myself away from everyone. A reality I feel like sharing a bit.
Continue reading “HRT: 200 days later…”