Too Much, Yet Never Enough
Too Much, Yet Never Enough
“Will you stop acting pitiful?”, my form teacher screamed at me.
I was just 7 at the time - I never really knew what was going on. I never really knew what was wrong. I always felt like I was different - not in a good way.
Why couldn’t I be like everyone else?
Why did I have to be different?
Why couldn’t I have been accepted for who I was?
As a child, I simply couldn’t understand - I begged to be normal.
Here we go again. The sudden pang of emotions.
My head wouldn’t stop spinning.
Gasping for air while shaking uncontrollably, my stomach churned into a knot releasing a steady stream of vomit.
I failed to control myself again...
Again, I found myself desperately clinging onto the toilet seat, releasing my breakfast in steady streams as the national anthem blared from the loudspeakers outside.
I really hated mornings.
I was so afraid of the nasty and unsympathetic remarks from my classmates or teachers. I was so afraid of having to explain myself only to be shrugged off that the anxiety near killed me.
As a little child, I struggled with depression and anxiety. Yet, I was told it was a phase. No one acknowledged the sadness and pain I felt at such a young age. I know it sounds ridiculous that a 7 year old like me at the point in time could feel so much. But I did, and no one batted an eyelid.
No one ever came for me.
No one ever patted my back.
No one ever asked If I was okay.
No one was there.
No one cared...
All I wanted was for someone to recognise that I was in pain, and reach out and tell me that I wasn’t difficult to love, that I wasn’t too much to handle, and hear me out without trying to fix me.
I just wanted to fit in.
I wanted to be seen.
I wanted to be heard.
But, all I got were weird stares, annoyed teachers, counsellors who couldn’t be bothered, and the familiar scent of the sickbay as the general office auntie greeted me for the fifth time that week.
I wanted to die so I could stop feeling for once - so that I could stop hurting.
I didn’t want tomorrow to come.
It took me three years to properly get through mornings. Even so, the pain of being abandoned reached far too deep. I don’t think I've ever really fully recovered from it. Till this day, the sound of the national anthem and the 11 pm news on channel U still causes a lump to rise in my throat and my stomach to churn.
I loved to sing
I desperately looked for something I was good at to fill the void in my heart.
I needed something to make me feel significant or recognised.
I needed something to feel seen and heard.
I needed something to make me feel... loved.
It was never going to be my studies - I was terrible at it. The only thing I found a measure of success in was singing. And so I tried my hardest to perform so I could find validation in the applause.
I sang to impress,
spoke to impress,
danced to impress,
worked to impress and lived to impress.
But… it just didn’t work out. A string of failed auditions crushed me, and any ounce of self-confidence I had.
It was the only way I thought I could be seen or heard. It was the only way I could feel a sense of purpose or meaning. It was the only way I thought I could feel significant, that I was a "somebody".
But even my best wasn't enough.
Two broken people - it felt kinda right.
“Are you okay?”
He came into my life unexpectedly - finding me in a place where I was hurting the most (someone just made an asshole remark about the size of my body that made me feel like shit) - outside the toilet I was crying in.
For the first time, someone heard my cries.
He understood me.
He made me feel seen and heard.
He filled the void in my heart.
At least... it felt like he did?
He comforted me when I needed it.
He stood up for me when I couldn't stand up for myself.
He was my "enough".
Yet, he came with a price...
We were never together as a couple. We were never boyfriend and girlfriend. And I couldn't let go of him.
I saw him get into relationship after relationship - only running back to me when he got his heart broken into a million pieces. I was in pain, wondering when it was going to be my turn for him to love me. I felt like I had to be there for him.
I promised my friends that I would walk away, that I would let go of him indefinitely. Yet, with a loose compliment, I would find myself back at square one.
I slowly came to realise that there is no measure to beauty
There is no “more beautiful” or “less beautiful”.
Right here, in your most vulnerable self, you are brave and you are beautiful.
I am nowhere near perfection.
There are days where I still struggle to leave the house. I still hold on to people a little too tightly, I still feel the need to be recognised for the things that I do, or the way that I look. I still fear intimacy and commitment, and I still feel a little too much or get too emotional.
But in all of that, I can say that I’ve never felt more alive. So here’s to the women who feel too much yet never enough…
I see a woman - strong and secure, unfazed by the winds of her fleeting feelings.
I see a woman - who knows her worth, who does not let the opinions of others determine her value.
I see a woman - courageous and steady, who knows she is unendingly loved by the people around her and that she will no longer allow the undeserving a place in her heart.
I see a woman wonderfully created to grow like wildflowers in the desert, impacting her community with the grace of her presence.
I see a woman - beautiful and courageous, who bares her soul in the strength of vulnerability. A woman who is neither afraid or embarrassed to show her scars, but to share them with the world.
To all the girls out there, you are so loved :")
Blessed Women's Month.
Published on 25/03/2021