Myself.
That answer took me a long time to arrive at.
I would not say I hated myself when I was younger. Hate is too strong a word. But I spent a great deal of my youth wishing I were someone else.
Even at a young age, I knew I was different.
Sports were fine, but I was never as good as my older brother. Music was enjoyable, but I could not play an instrument or sing like my other siblings. Everywhere I looked, someone seemed to have a gift that was easier to see than mine.
My gift was quieter.
I was smart. I liked books.
That may not sound like much now, but when you are young, fitting in can feel more important than understanding who you are. I spent years measuring myself against other people and coming up short because I was using the wrong ruler.
I wanted to be an athlete. The musician. The person everyone noticed when they walked into a room.
Instead, I was the kid who disappeared into a book.
What I did not understand then was that the things that made me different were also the things that would shape my life. The hours spent reading taught me how to think. They taught me curiosity. They taught me empathy. They taught me how to sit with an idea long enough to understand it.
Most importantly, they taught me how to find my own voice.
Age has a way of settling old arguments. The things we once viewed as flaws often turn out to be foundations.
Today, I no longer wish I were someone else.
I am grateful for the quiet kid who loved books. Grateful for the young man who kept reading even when it was not popular. Grateful for the person who eventually learned that fitting in is overrated and that becoming yourself is the greater achievement.
What do I love now that I disliked when I was younger?
The answer is simple.
I love being me.
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