The other side- Being Authentic

   

     There is another part of Samantha who exists, but there are few people presently involved in my life that know about her. Otherwise, she mostly remains unnamed, unmentioned, and I attempt to keep her at bay as she is the Samantha who is the remains of an unwelcome guest who still occasionally haunts me. She is the Samantha who has no place in my life today as the woman I stand for. As the woman I am becoming, and have become. 
     I often find myself flashing back to moments wherein I am reminded of this young lady who was so troubled. For so long, I tried to rid myself of what I thought was a shameful past that needed to be kept a secret from those I met today simply because it is not conventional and perfect. It holds stigma. I have felt so much shame from it that I have hidden it from even my professors and colleagues because I feared their judgement. I hid it from my closest friends. My church. Things I would talk about in my journals, but would not pray about because I was fearful of God. Fearful of shame. Things I sat being ridiculed at by pastors, so I decided I deserved this. Things I still struggle with at times. But I am done keeping quiet about these things. 
    This Samantha... she is no longer me. But she is nothing to be shameful for. She is the young lady who was troubled, but has become the woman I am today. This is nothing I must hide, or walk with my head down about. I love the woman I have become because I have fought hard to become her. 
    I am done living a life of lies covering up questions of what my scars on my arms are from, as I have managed to live a life free of consistent self harm since high school. I am sick of bowing my head in shame, and feeling I must lie in embarrassment, due to once being told I was the reason I made someone else start. No. I am no longer allowing this to hold control over me. I am taking back this freedom starting right now.
     The 17 year old girl who spent the last half of her senior year from Christmas on alone in a psychiatric unit beginning her four months in and out of the hospital for treatment for depression, and trauma. The judgement she got when she had to enter cyber school because of how much school she missed that year- yet she finished her senior year with AP classes and her highest GPA of her high school career because she was finally receiving the treatment she had so long needed and deserved. The very treatment that enabled her the drive, and stability to start college on the right foot. Yet, she told no one in college, and few at church because she hated her self, and has for so long because she thought she was messed up. She thought she was unlovable, and unworthy of love. She was told by those who she thought loved her. She was told she was manipulative. A monster. She was disowned. She was abandoned. She hated herself for so long. I am no longer lost. I am no longer mourning, and I am no longer her.
     For so long I carried this weight, and struggled to find an identity through Christ, or accept love from others because I could not accept myself. I manifested the roots of vanity. Of anorexia. Of looking perfect, and whole to disguise the hollow inside, until it manifested to the outer brokenness that nearly consumed my life in a very different and terrifying form. 
    For so long- this girl did not believe anyone would accept her if they knew this part of her too. Maybe I am right. But I hope I am wrong.  
     If I am going to be an advocate for recovery- I am done only putting certain things in the light, and hiding parts for which I still fear judgement on because of my own selfishness. I cannot pick and choose what I want to look like in my brokeness. This is what I am, my journey from hell, back where I belong to do the work I am called, and I accept this- I am learning to accept myself.
It has been three years since I was that girl in the pitch black.

I heard this on Christmas eve, and it truly resonated. It brought me full circle, and reminded me of why I love- why I believe- why I hope. Before I was broken, before I was [anything] I was his child... 

Keep fighting and looking toward the light. There's always hope.