I am stubborn. I can’t deny it, I have to accept and acknowledge it. It is a flaw that has only made the most difficult situations in my life, far worse. I don’t know how I got so principled and righteous. I base everything on black and white, right and wrong. I cannot keep quiet if I see something happening that I know to be wrong, and it has gotten me into trouble throughout my life. My parents often sighing and saying, ‘why do you have to ALWAYS get involved?” I have brought home stray dogs, I have hooted outside peoples driveways when their dogs are out, I have called out a manager or two for treating their employees badly. I once stood up to a teacher who called another student ‘stupid’, and I got labeled a troublemaker at 15 for it. I have risked so much to be some kind of a ‘hero’. I’m not one. I’m just stubborn and I hate seeing others hurt.
So it makes sense that this kind of behaviour would spill over into my relationships. When I feel that someone has not been making an effort with me, I close off. ‘It’s a two way street,’ I tell myself. And I sit on the sidelines and I bite my tongue. And it hurts. I want to be this independent and brave being, but I also want some kind of support system too. The problem is, I don’t know exactly how to ask for help. I’m not sure where I learnt this trait, I’ve thought about it so often.
Perhaps it was having such self-sufficient older sisters, who always seemed to carve their own way. Perhaps it was my fearless and ambitious mother, who always seemed to know what she wanted and where she was headed. Or perhaps it was my hardworking father who taught all of the above to never quit anything, no matter how tough it got. So here I am, I can write a blog post that says, ‘hey I’m stubborn and it’s not my greatest characteristic,’ but I cannot pick up the phone and tell someone that they have hurt me. I cannot let someone know that they haven’t been there for me, that they’ve made me feel alone and that I miss them.
And perhaps being stubborn and being far too proud for ones own good is simply a recipe for disaster. Because late at night, I think about everything, just before it all goes black. Life is so short, and I wish I were courageous enough sometimes to let others know when I need help. Life is so short, and I wish I could get over myself and enjoy this amazing time in my life. So I guess this is an apology, to myself about being so rigid and not allowing myself to enjoy the grey areas. I don’t think I will ever change, I’m just hoping I will learn how to pick my battles. I’m just hoping that I make a difference to someone or something in this short lifetime, and that my pride doesn’t get in the way of that.