Holding your own hand…

There are books written about it, there are songs sung about it… Independance.

It can be empowering, people search for it, wanting to grasp at it, hold onto it forever… I held onto mine since I was six years old.

I walked my own path, I smiled all the time, not caring about what anyone thought about me… I was my own person… I was good at sport, I made friends wherever I went.  I was strong and independant.  A trait I taught myself.

I very rarely got angry, in fact I dont remember a time when I was raging angry.  I never wanted anyone to die, I was just living my life and those who wanted to come, came.

I am now 24.  18 years since the first day I discovered this thing called independance.  It was somewhat empowering, but I didnt realise the consequences such a ‘gift’ would have, until now.

I have the life I have because I worked hard for it.  I put alot of energy into the things around me. If I didnt find what I wanted, Id keep looking until I got it. All the time I spent building my life, some of those close to me, had theirs fall down around them.

People say moving out when I was sixteen was a good decision, others think it was bad… each to their own I guess. For me, it was the best decision for me at that time.  Independance was official the moment I paid my first lot of rent. Thats when my choices became solely my responsibility. I was holding my own hand…

Last night I realised Ive been holding my own hand for a long time, and pushed away the hands that are meant to help you.

There are moments in my life, some imperfect, that this ‘pushing away’ was a good thing, in other times I should have reached for them with my arms at full stretch.

I would lie if I stated that I had no regrets in my life.

I regret not letting my mother hold me.  I regret not reaching for the hand of my older sister who has played the protector role her entire life.  I regret that these people who I love whole heartedly dont know how I see them. Maybe I never told them.

I love my mother.  I admire that she can still breathe through everything she has been through, and seen the things she has had to see.  I love her for allowing me to succeed at the things I have done, for somehow making it work, for feeding us, for putting us all in that rooma and protecting us.

I love my sister.  She is my guardian angel.  She protected me from soo much, and I feel priviledged to stand beside her.  I am sorry I never opened my mouth at the moment she needed me to.  I want her to know I will always fight for her… her strength in incredible, and my pride for her overrides any pride I have for anyone else.

My family is not the type from a hollywood rom-com movie.  If it was then I wouldnt be the person I am today.  I am who I am because of them. I draw strength from my sister, I draw pride from my mother, I draw logic from my younger sister, and I draw loyalty from the youngest of us all. I draw the knowledge from my grandmother, the lessons in which I learn from her continue to shape my life to this day.

I dont speak of my family much, or my personal life as many of my friends have told me over the past few weeks. I know that I am silent on this subject, but its not because Im ashamed, embarassed or humiliated.  Its because I am scared that letting you all in means I sacrifice my independance.

I held my own hand for 18 years and Im trying not to push the others away. I walk with people beside me now, not following. I am only human 🙂