Finding authenticity after conformity.
I used to be easy to digest.
Polite.
Palatable.
Quiet in all the right places.
I wore the mask they gave me
and clapped on cue.
I was a shape-shifter.
A mood-matcher.
A certified approval addict.
Then I healed.
And everything got weird.
I started saying no.
Laughing too loud.
Crying in public.
Leaving when I felt unsafe
instead of staying to prove I was loyal.
I questioned things I was told not to.
Challenged people I was taught to obey.
Refused labels that made others comfortable
but made me small.
And suddenly, I wasn’t “doing well” anymore.
I was “acting different.”
“Going through something.”
“Hard to be around.”
Translation: I was finally being myself.
And they didn’t like her.
But I did.
I liked the girl
who wore rage like warpaint
and joy like rebellion.
I liked the woman
who made people uncomfortable
simply by telling the truth.
I liked the weird, wild,
unapologetic version of me
that wasn’t looking for permission anymore.
Healing didn’t make me better at fitting in.
It made me better at walking out.
I lost people.
Jobs.
“Opportunities.”
But I found my f*cking self.
And honestly?
I’d rather be weird than wounded.
Rather be real than revered.
Rather be misunderstood than muzzled.
🧠 Emotional Takeaway:
If healing makes you weird—
good.
That means you’re finally not pretending.
There’s no freedom in perfection.
But there’s power in authenticity.
🪞 Reflection Box:
Once, I was praised for being adaptable.
Now, I’m proud of being unshapable.
I don’t need to be normal.
I need to be free.
🎤 I used to blend. I used to bend.
Now I confuse what I can’t mend.
They call me strange. I call it clear—
Healing made me weird. I cheer.
I’d rather laugh too loud and cry,
Than live a life that’s just a lie.
Let them scoff or shake their head—
At least I’m real. At least I bled.
