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Damaged goods- I miss the Me that only knew the good

Do you remember what you were like before you were ever damaged? Before life hit us with bricks named reality?

I miss the me that came before reality. When I actually believed that I am enough. I am not just damaged goods.

There are days I long for my youth. My innocence. When all I knew was that I was taken care of and I didn’t have any cares of what else this world had to offer except that I was going to be a singer and make lots of money! And be super rich!

I was going to grow up, get married, have kids, get rich and take care of everyone I love.

…Until I wasn’t. And am still not.

I miss the me before my first love heartbreak. That loved the guy I tried to love and love again, just to be hurt, hurt again, and then ultimately broken. When I knew how to fully trust a person without insinuating allegations over minuscule things. Who, despite all the crappy relationships I fell into, still trusted someone enough to marry them and start a family, that ultimately led to more trust issues and belittlement– and ended.

I miss the me who didn’t worry about what to wear or how much I should or shouldn’t weigh. When black and white striped shorts totally went well with a pink and purple polka dotted shirt and kids wouldn’t make fun of me for it. When I didn’t compare my own unique beauty to those around me– and then feel less beautiful because of it.

I miss the me before I had kids. Not in the sense that I have lost myself, more so in the sense that I worry so much more--about bad people, bullies, rapists, murderers, other drivers on the road and what other people are capable of doing to them if I even take my eyes off of them for one second. I worry about myself and beating myself up about more than my looks, but now about my parenting skills (or lack thereof). Am I doing this right? Are my kids happy? Should I do this or that? Can they see that I have no idea what I’m really doing and that I’m just winging it, most days, just to get through the day? Or that I am nowhere near as neat and organized as my mother was? And probably never will be.

I miss not having to worry about the bad in this world.

Because although I didn’t get it right the first time, I have found a love that mirrors mine. Who–even though, I have trust issues, anxiety and many insecurities–still loves me for me. Someone who would move mountains and help me carry my baggage and burdens. I have someone who sees the good in me and knows that I am enough.

…Even though lately all I see is bad.

I miss the me that only knew the good.

The good in this world.

The good in other people.

The good in me.

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