Versions of Me

This morning, I was reflecting on all the different versions of Abbey. In grade school, I was painfully shy. I had to get glasses in the second grade, which was before glasses were cool. I was a figure skater, so I was pretty lanky and skinny… apparently the perfect combination for being a nerd. In eighth grade, I got braces, which made my situation even worse, but something changed after I got contacts and had my braces taken off right before my freshman year.

I was kind of a jerk in high school. Looking back, I realize how my immature attitude overshadowed my true potential. I found my voice to the thousandth degree, yet instead of using it to uplift others, I wielded it like a weapon. I remember telling girls that the class rings and letterman jackets their boyfriends gave them was just their way of “marking their territory,” completely disregarding the sentiments behind those gifts. I had an opinion on everything—from fashion choices to relationship dynamics—and I wasn’t afraid to share it! But then the sexual assault came, and from then on I lost that part of me. I literally stopped talking for months!

Things got pretty bleak for me. The perpetrator was well known, and I was not. I came from a Lutheran grade school a half an hour away. People whom I confided in and fought on my behalf later came back and publicly accused me of being a liar. Girls who found out about the act told me that they would have enjoyed it. I was confused, hurt, and all alone.

That began my entire mental health journey. The pills I started made me gain weight and have terrible acne. Not only was a part of my soul stolen, but my beauty was too. Eventually, I would get a fraction of my gumption back. In my senior year, I lost about twenty pounds in just a few months, and people started to notice me again.

College and grad school were a hot mess. I wasn’t stable, and I spent most of my college years chasing after a guy who never had my best interests in mind. Technically, we were together, but he cheated on me more times than I can count. I think a large part of me stayed with him because he had three kids and I knew I was never going to have any of my own. Our whole relationship mimicked my disorder, having huge highs and lows, but truthfully, I didn’t think I could do any better. My friends and parents begged me to leave him. I think at that point, I was still a shell of a person. Lost, insecure, and even dealing with some self-hatred. That phase lasted about ten years.

My thirties were ok. I was with my ex-husband, and I thought I could do all things through him. People told me that my eyes would light up when he walked into a room, but there’s a problem with putting all your faith in just one person. People are fallible, and in hindsight, our relationship wasn’t as perfect as I thought it was. We never fought until after I found out about the affair. Looking back, I would say that he probably had an avoidant attachment style and I most likely had an anxious one. I still hadn’t found the voice that I lost in high school; life has a way of beating you up sometimes.

Navigating a divorce in my forties was not what I had expected; it was a tumultuous journey filled with unexpected challenges and moments of great self-reflection. However, three years later, I can finally say that I am finding myself, my words, and who I want to be in a world that often feels chaotic. I have come to realize that I don’t want to merely be Abbey, the version of myself who just spouts off whatever happens to come to her mind without being mindful of how it impacts others. That thoughtless approach no longer resonates with me. Yet, I also recognize that I don’t want to be paralyzed by a fear of speaking up and sharing my thoughts and feelings.

Instead, I aspire to forge a new path where I can express myself authentically, balancing honesty with empathy, and embrace the complexities of my emotions and experiences. This journey of self-discovery is not just about reclaiming my voice; it’s about owning my narrative and celebrating the strength that comes from vulnerability…and I love it!