Note 021
Sometimes people aren’t reacting to who you are. They’re reacting to the version of you they’ve been told to expect.
There are some things I’ve spent years trying to put into words.
This is one of them.
I grew up with a version of myself being described to other people that didn’t match the woman I knew myself to be.
And when a story is repeated enough times, something strange happens.
People start believing it.
Not because they experienced it themselves.
But because they’ve heard it so many times.
Conversations I remember one way were retold another way.
Things I said somehow became things I supposedly meant.
My reactions became the problem.
My behavior was described.
My intentions were explained for me.
And somehow, the story always seemed to end with someone else being the victim and me being the difficult one.
And when you’re growing up inside that, you don’t necessarily have the words for what’s happening.
You just know something feels…off.
You start questioning yourself.
“Did I really say that?”
“Was I wrong?”
“Did I make this bigger than it was?”
“Maybe I should have responded differently.”
Hello.
Resident overthinker reporting for duty.
But here’s what happens when you spend enough years questioning yourself:
You can start believing everyone else’s version of you before you believe your own.
And that’s the part I’ve had to work through.
Because when people have been given a particular version of you, they may interact with you based on that version.
So you walk into a room simply being yourself…
and they’re waiting for the person they’ve been told you’re supposed to be.
You can feel it.
The hesitation.
The awkwardness.
The walking on eggshells.
The uncertainty about what to say.
And you’re thinking:
“What exactly am I supposed to be doing right now?”
Because I showed up as me.
But they’re expecting someone else.
I’ve also experienced what it feels like when family members are pulled into a narrative.
Things are repeated.
Conversations are retold.
One person hears one version.
Another person hears another.
And suddenly you’re not just dealing with the original situation.
You’re dealing with everyone else’s perception of the situation.
That can be incredibly isolating.
And for a long time, I think I wanted to prove my version.
Explain myself.
Correct every misunderstanding.
Give every detail.
Make everyone understand.
But here’s what I’ve learned:
You cannot explain yourself into being understood by someone who has already decided who you are.
And that has been a hard lesson for an overthinker like me.
Because honey, I can give you context.
Background.
A timeline.
Exhibits A through Z.
But sometimes you have to stop presenting your case.
You have to know yourself.
You have to trust your own memories, experiences, character and growth.
And you have to allow people to believe whatever version they’ve chosen.
Because eventually, your life will speak for itself.
I’m not writing this because I want anyone to feel sorry for me.
I’m writing it because I know I’m not the only woman who has experienced this.
Maybe your family has a version of you that doesn’t exist anymore.
Maybe someone has spent years telling people who you are.
Maybe you’ve been labeled difficult, selfish, dramatic, sensitive, angry, cold, rebellious, or some other word that never quite felt like you.
Maybe you’ve spent years trying to convince people that you’re not that person.
Here’s your note:
You don’t have to spend the rest of your life defending yourself against a version of you that someone else created.
You get to know yourself.
You get to grow.
You get to change.
You get to become healthier.
You get to become softer.
You get to become stronger.
And you get to stop performing for people who are committed to an old version of you.
Maybe the greatest freedom isn’t getting everyone to finally understand you.
Maybe it’s reaching the point where you understand yourself.
And that’s enough.
A Note for Today
You are not required to live according to someone else’s version of you.
Until the next note,
Your Resident Overthinker