Hating the Haters

Cliche as it may be, my husband makes me a better person. I'll say it-I was a bitch in high school. I was mean, spiteful, vindictive. I used people and manipulated them to suit my needs. But that was more than 6 years ago and I am NOT that same person. I hate the people that think I am and I hate that they fill me with such hate. It is frustrating trying to prove yourself when your biggest fault was being young and all that entails. Stupid. Selfish. Naive. Judgmental.

Well, I'm still a little judgmental-it's kind of hard not to be. Stereotypes exist for a reason and you only get one first impression. And the selfish part is kinda still true. More self-indulgent, I should say. I just prefer not to rely on anyone bu myself, so if I want something, I get it. I digress. These many years away from the social pressures of high school have softened me. All bite lost-only feeble bark remains. My sharp tongue and sarcastic wit gone.

I should be thankful for my husband's hard work taming me, but mostly, I miss the old me. The old me didn't care what the fuck you thought because, honestly, who the hell are you? You're no ME and I'll tell you straight to your face what I think of you and only my opinion matters.

Does a happy medium exist? I'd like to find that. A place in between the old me and the new me. The old me handled anything without so much as a blink. The new me has her shit together. The old me was terrified, but persevered. The new me is comfortable and stale.

I love my husband and was so excited to take his name. I still wouldn't change anything. But...

But sometimes...

I have an identity crisis. I feel fake. Phony. All my achievements are under an obsolete name. A forgotten name. A name that no longer matters and never gets repeated. What has my new persona accomplished? I'm a Mrs. I'm half of a whole. I'm part of something bigger. I love that and it scares me. I hate it and that scares me more. Comfort constantly spars with freedom.  I am one of the only girls in my industry and one of the youngest. I run a $4.2 million business. I work out 4 times per week. I read. I write. I matter.

I. i. i.....I....i.i.i.....

Who the fuck am I? What's in a name?

Everything.

Shitfuck.