How could I have known?

I used to scoff at the notion of finding yourself. How does one lose oneself to begin with? How do you not know yourself? Turns out, it’s pretty easy. (It’s also pretty naive to think that you ever truly and completely know yourself.) That’s not like me.

Big T or little t traumas- those chronic dismissals, invalidations, and unceasing expectations- they take a toll: 1 Identity, please. The cost is self.

I mean, not all at once. It’s like a mortgage. You pay it in installments. But unlike a mortgage, you end up with nothing. Maybe a nice little certificate that reads, “Congratulations! You’ve sold your soul,” and maybe a drink coozie emblazoned with something like I do what I want on it.