There is a meme going round that says ‘I’m in my villain phase’, but I’m not.
I’m no villain.
I’m in my ‘prioritising me’ phase.
And if you don’t like that then I’m sorry, but I’m not going to change.
For years I have been told, when I voice my opinion, that I am being argumentative, but I’m not. I’ve just wanted to be heard.
You don’t have to agree with me or my opinion, that’s not what I’m asking for, but you do need to acknowledge my truth.
It started when I was a teen. Every time I stood up for myself I was accused of starting arguments, and for a while into adulthood I tried and tried to say my thoughts, to give myself a voice, but it was as good as crying into the wind. No one heard.
When you get told again and again that your opinions are wrong or irrelevant then you can’t help but believe them. So slowly over time I became silent. Trying to keep the peace. Being good and compliant. Putting myself out there again and again only to be told that others’ needs are more relevant than my own.
So slowly I became a yes man. Saying yes to situations and people that I knew was not going to be healthy to my soul, but it was easier to disappoint myself than it was to think I had disappointed others.
And eventually it broke me.
I have sat with pain that I tried to bury deep down inside, but it’s not been forgotten. Instead it sat and festered, growing blacker and blacker until it poisoned my soul. And I can’t keep doing that to myself.
You hurt me and there is no taking it back.
Please don’t think I am wanting apologies for every little disagreement I have ever encountered. I know my reactions are my responsibility.
But what about accountability for yours?
Being told to move on, or to keep the peace because the other parties were struggling too just isn’t good enough.
What about how much their actions hurt me?
I’m fucking relevant too.
I have importance, I have needs that are not always met, and I get that. I also have a heart that can be broken into a million shards, but that doesn’t mean it’s ok to walk all over those pieces, grinding them to powder so that it can never be rebuilt, even if it was held together with sticky tape and glue.
I’m not the villain in this story for finally caring about myself. But if loving myself makes me the villain in your narrative, then I’m ok with that too.