Some don’t know the cost of being different. People don’t know how to categorize you in their life, so often you just get stuck to the side in the miscellaneous pile like a random receipt that might be of some value to them someday. Its because when you are different people struggle with understanding how to identify you. Like an Indigenous tribe seeing an airplane for the first time. They might call you a bird even though you are giant hunk of metal.
Being different is not something I can control or turn off, but now that I’ve learned I have Asperger’s, somehow that has caused me to embrace it more. I guess it made me realize I can go my whole life fighting who I am trying to blend in like a giraffe at a mouse parade, or I can turn ‘about face’ and rest in myself and figure out how to be different and okay with that.
I wear a wrist band made out of my daughter’s sock top to remind me of her strength and inner beauty, and to remember that I have my own. I have to own my own, especially in the place that causes me the most pain and anxiety; public.
In a life I used to live, my desire issue was to be like others, so much so, that I tried to please everyone in every way. Making them smile made me smile. Not rocking their boat meant peace on mine. And if I could earn even a morsel of praise or approval of my efforts, I could live on, knowing I am now worthy as though they somehow had that authority to tell me so. And it meant the world to me, at least for a nano second over a insignificant particle of life. Vanity and shallowness will do this to you and keep you ever searching in an infinite sea of possibilities of what will *hopefully* make others happy. Yes. Hope can torture you if your agenda is misaligned with the proper pole.
Now days, I am caring less of what anybody thinks of me, good or bad.
But don’t mistake that for complete lack of care. I care more for humanity than anybody could know. Many of us do. I just don’t care to get an emotional high off of people anymore. Peace feels much better. Knowing I am always at home inside, feels much better. Knowing I can’t please everybody or even one person all the time is a relief that has set me free from an endless effort I will never be able to master. A waste of my time.
Now I can focus on doing what I am meant to do and what I love to do, which will reveal itself in time and need, maybe in the next moment when my daughter asks me for something. Or maybe someday I will write some sort of book, or finish a degree in Psychology.
Now I ask myself, “What can I give that others need” instead of subconsciously running an old program of, “how can I please you this time?” There is a difference between a servant and a slave.