Truth Be Told...

I don’t know who I am.

The first year after I escaped and found my freedom, I announced to the world, “Here I am! This is me! This is who I am without someone telling me who I have to be.” And I tried so hard to be that person I saw in my mind’s eye – that woman who was strong and independent and creative and amazing. Dorothy Parker but with better shoes. I thought I knew what I wanted and who I wanted to be. I thought it would be easy to embrace that Susan I always wanted to be but never felt that I was allowed to be.

But deep inside, I had no idea who that person was. I lived what I thought was expected of me, who I thought others saw me as. OOMA saw me as strong, creative, brilliant (maybe). My new friends saw me as strong, creative, powerful. I still saw myself as a little girl, hiding behind a door, peeking out on the life that I wanted but no idea how to get the door open. But I faked it pretty well. There were glimpses of who I thought I wanted to be but never a clear vision.

I became SUSAN, in all caps, because that’s what I thought I should be. Dynamic. Strong. Powerful. Didn’t need anyone. Didn’t need anything. But the many nights crying into my pillow and fighting panic attacks told me that maybe I was wrong. I tried to let myself (whoever that may be) come out and be expressed but, in the process, I think I drove some pretty amazing people away because, once I let myself out, I found I couldn’t pull myself back.

I spent the next year spinning the wheel, trying on different things, different selves. Be more open, be more emotional. Be stronger, be more creative. Be the director you are, don’t need anything else. You’re strong, you are SUSAN, hear you roar. But the little voice inside me kept saying, “But who are you?” I ignored that voice. I decided I didn’t want to be single anymore and to try to figure out who I had to be in order to make the OOMA want and adore me. Silly me. Maybe if I hadn’t tried so hard to be… something… maybe I wouldn’t have made him run for the hills. I’ll never know because he’ll never tell me. But I knew down inside that I wasn’t who I wanted to be yet because I still didn’t know who that was.

I had moments in that year where I wanted to go back to being with him, just so I wouldn’t have to find out who I was without him. Because that would mean that the person I was for 18 years with him was a fraud. I know, I wouldn’t be who I am without that time with him but it seemed that, by leaving him, I left myself behind, with no bread crumbs to lead me back to where I was. I kept thinking, “What the hell did I do? Who am I to think I deserve to find myself, find my bliss, find what makes me happy? Nobody’s happy, why should I be?” Luckily, that didn’t last long and usually went away quickly. But it was there.

A while ago, I was meditating on where I wanted to be in five years and I got a very clear vision of that. Beautiful oceanside home, filled with peace and contentment, warm, beautiful, the voice of the man I love in the other room, singing softly to something that was making me smile as I sat curled up, looking out the window at the gorgeous view, knowing we were going to be doing something perfect that night. Knowing that I was exactly where I wanted to be, with the person I wanted to be with, and being the person I wanted to be. There were no doubts, no worries, no fears. This was my life, and it was exactly what I wanted.

I now realize that the past six to eight months have been me, waiting. Waiting for some revelation of who I am and who I am to be. Director, yes, but good director? I thought so. But how could I know without that significant other to confirm it to me. I know I have spouted off on not needing that approval but, you know what? I am full of shit. I want someone there to discuss the screening last weekend and play the “what did you think” game with. But even that is dependent on who I am. How can I know who I am looking for if I don’t know who the person is that is doing the looking.

So I arrive at today, ironically Independence Day, when I realize that I haven’t a clue who I am. There is a blurry impression deep inside that makes me think I can see something hazy on the horizon that might take the shape of the person I want to be. I know I feel it occasionally, particularly when I am directing and there is no doubt in my mind that I know what I am doing. I see that vision of me in five years, happy, content, at peace, and I want to figure out how to get there. I know I am taking baby steps and sometimes I think I am making huge, gargantuan leaps. But then I look down and see I’m only a tiny step or two from where I was.

I do realize that, to get the life I see in five years, I need to spend the time figuring out who I am. How can I expect to be with someone in my life in a significant way if I don’t know who I am? How do I know even what to look for? Without a road map of my own self, I cannot expect anyone to follow me along and meet me at the rest stop. I’ve got my Thomas Guide, they’re working with Mapquest. We’re not going to end up at the same place because we’re seeing two different paths.

I hope that going to my therapist again will help me decipher my Thomas Guide and figure out which way is north. I hope to find that peaceful place in the distance, with the ocean and the peace and the sound of his voice singing softly in the next room. I hope to be able to say, “Hi, I’m Susan (no caps)” and know what that introduction means. In the meantime, bear with me as I seek and struggle and peek into the crannies. I hope in five years, we’ll toast to the me that was and put her to bed. And I hope to be complete all by myself.