I Met the Woman I Always Wanted to Be, and She Was Me.
on living into our truest, bravest selves
In October 2021, I spent the weekend in New York City to attend the wedding of a college friend whom I hadn't seen in years.
It was a three-night solo trip, the first time I’d been away from my kids for more than one night for several years. My husband had gone to a wedding for one of his college friends in September, so now it was my turn while he stayed with the kids.
We were (still are) in that stage of life—the one where we have to go to out-of-town weddings separately because one of us has to stay home with the kids, being the still-tiny handfuls that they are. It’s a strange reversal: we’re so married that it’s like we’re single again, showing up to weddings without a date.
After a relatively smooth but still-harrowing flight thanks to the COVID-19 anxiety of that era, I arrived late to the rehearsal dinner in a chic Brooklyn restaurant. Someone helped me stash my carry-on in a corner, and I found myself seated next to one of my housemates from senior year and across from two strangers.
It was one of those weird dual experiences where part of you feels like you’re back in college, 20 years old again, feeling all the insecurity and self-consciousness and pent-up idealism you felt back then, but then another part of you is very conscious that you’re not 20 but rather 40 and a confident, accomplished, interesting woman with amazing friends, a handsome husband, and three adorable kids. And the cognitive dissonance is deafening, these two versions of yourself standing side by side in your psyche.
It’s kind of like when you go home to visit your parents in your 30s (or 40s). You’ve changed in hard-won, important ways and no longer rely on your adolescent defense mechanisms with your own friends and family, but the moment you step foot in your childhood home and start talking to your mom over the kitchen counter, all the old patterns hijack your nervous system, and you find yourself saying and doing things that make you cringe. You realize you’re doing it and think, “Who IS this person?” And, “How do I get my normal/grownup self back??” (And if you’re me, you then wonder if the self is truly such a fragile, ephemeral concept or if we’re really just a bundle of instincts that respond to the conditions we encounter like so many salivating dogs.)
Luckily, I had some notion I’d encounter that strange internal dynamic at this wedding, so I made a choice: I was going to be the boldest, bravest, truest version of myself and aim to get the very most out of every interaction.
I dressed the part—hair down and curly, body-skimming black midi dress, big earrings—and I went for it. I asked all the deep questions, shared all the vulnerable stories, and pushed through all the self-doubt that told me to shrink instead of stepping forward.
In a cramped corner of the bar we migrated to after dinner, over my second gin and tonic with a splash of cranberry, I talking about how I had not one boyfriend in college and developed some serious self-confidence issues. I shared about the failed relationship that led me to Tallahassee, just how desperate and wrong I had been at the time. I asked my about-to-be-married friend how it felt to be getting married a second time while it was his bride's first—a question that might have been awkward but elicited visible relief and gratitude, as he was finally able to acknowledge those less-than-picture-perfect emotions. I explained that I still found the Christian faith resonant and enjoyed teaching at a Christian school even though I disagreed with many of the political, social, and even theological positions prevalent in that Southern, evangelical culture.
And it was incredible. Each time I found myself thinking, “Oh no, I've been too personal/deep/weird,” I’d search for boredom or disdain on the faces around me and instead find looks of rapt attention. When I attempted to demur or change the subject, they would ask questions, apparently wanting to hear more.
Rather than being annoyed or repulsed by my tendency to go deep pretty much all the time, they seemed to relish it. I got the sense that it was refreshing, that they, too, were tired of the small talk.
Maybe that's why I was friends with them all along, though I wouldn't have said that back in the day. Or maybe it's something more universal. Regardless, it was wonderfully affirming.
Reflected in their eyes, I saw a beautiful, confident, independent, interesting, intelligent, insightful, unique woman with wild, curly hair who was forging her own path in the world and pursuing her purpose with passion. I saw the woman I had always wanted to be, and she was me.
I've tried to hold onto that vision of myself in the weeks and years since, to live into that truer, more vivid version of myself—a reminder of the way I want to show up in the world, both with others and with myself.
But strangely (or perhaps not so strangely), it takes a lot of energy to be that person. It’s a weird tension: on one hand, it should be easier because it’s authentic; but on the other hand, I’ve spent 30 years training myself to hide and shrink and please and pretend, and old habits die hard, as they say.
Nevertheless, that weekend marked a turning point because it showed me that it's possible. It is possible to be the woman I know is inside me, the one who radiates compassion and wit, who embraces contradiction and asks the hard questions, who takes up space—physically and emotionally—and goes after her dreams, who is unashamed of her past and unapologetically enthusiastic about her future.
That weekend showed me that she is not a myth, not a fantasy cooked up by my idealistic, Enneagram 4 mind. She is real, and she’s always there, waiting (mostly) patiently for me to invite her out to play.
In the years since, I’ve begun to do so more often. She shows up in my writing when I’m simultaneously sassy and vulnerable, self-revealing and self-deprecating in a a way that inspires others to greater self-compassion.
She shows up in my parenting when, instead of becoming overwhelmed by the rising tide of emotions around me, I find a way to turn our task into a game and a path to deeper connection.
She shows up in my marriage when I push aside the stressors and initiate physical intimacy, confident in our bond and the allure of my presence to overcome emotional distance.
And each time she shows up, she grows stronger.
In my teens and 20s, I thought my transformation would come from outside, that something life-changing would happen to me that would magically transform me into the person I wanted to be. Now, I know that change can only happen from within. And unlike the proverbial butterfly, it’s not a one-time metamorphosis. It’s gradual and inconsistent and, at times, imperceptible. And it’s always the result of intention.
It takes effort to live into our truest, bravest selves. It's a choice we must make each day, each hour, each minute.
But that's the beauty of it: we have a choice; it's within our power.
The person we were created to be is right there, within us, waiting for us to discover her, to believe in her, to choose her despite the fear.
So I ask you, friend: who will you choose today?
Even though I'm decades older. I related to your beautiful writing on a deep level. I am learning to create a life alone at age 78. I am healthy and interested in being part of the world. I need to challenge myself to step out in vulnerability to connect with others as I create the life I desire, which includes "yes" to what I want and "no" to what I don't. (There is a 'church' assumption that I automatically what to join the senior citizen group...'keep that old lady busy will tasks'...I don't)
This was beautifully written and really inspiring! I too struggle at times with social anxiety or worrying about what I say because I’m used to going deep fast (being limited to 50-minute conversations for most of my day as a therapist). I’m going to borrow this trick to embody my bravest self!