Me, myself and I

Last year I met a woman.

I met her for the first time, although I knew her for my whole life.

She was strong. Very strong she was. She was beautiful, although she did not recognise this herself. She was talented. Singing, writing, painting, organising, gardening… She was capable to do it all…

Furthermore, she was impatient. Very impatient. When arranging a garden, she almost stared at the plants and the trees to make them grow faster. When starting to do jobs in and around the house, she was so fixated on the final results that there was almost no room to take a break for everyone on the job, including herself. She sometimes felt like she was a simon legree to her own friends and family. And even more to herself…

But when things turned out to be difficult, she could try it over and over again, without any sign of impatience. Continuation until the job was all done and until she was completely satisfied with it.

But good was never good enough…

She saw her external appearance was different than she thought.

First of all, she saw she had different hair than she thought. She had a different skin and a completely different face than she ever imagined.

Also, she discovered she was rather intelligent instead of really stupid, like she used to believe she was. On the contrary, she discovered she was a bit more intelligent than many others in the world. Finally she realised why she used to feel misunderstood when expressing her thoughts to other people without obtaining any reasonable content back from them. Not everyone could follow the speed of her thoughts, nor the capricious way in which they were tumbling through her mind.

She was told excessively exercising was strictly necessary to prevent thinking.

She once was forced to do lots of sports, because the way she was thinking was not ok, as she was told. But she was always thinking and she simply couldn’t stop. Even when thinking was not strictly necessary several thoughts crossed her mind.

She used to think, to write her figments down on every piece of paper she could lay her hands on. She fought against her thoughts and never realised it was ok to just ‘think’.

Fortunately she found out, no matter how much gymnastic exercise she was putting into practise, it sure wasn’t able to stop her thoughts. They were simply always there. So, when her body gave up, she wrote them down. Almost all of them. Some on a blog. Some on various books, hidden in her computer, waiting for continuation of their story. Finally she accepted the fact this behaviour really belonged to her, and that it could bring her and many others lots of happiness.

So she wrote.

And she loved, starting by herself and her family-members. She finally felt accepted by the people in her surroundings. She felt good. Her body never completely recovered from the injuries that life asked over the last decades. But her mind was free at last. She now was allowed to think and she released herself from restrictions given to her by the wrong persons.

She felt she was worth living. And she felt she was worth to be listened to. But most of all, she felt she was worth to be loved. And for the rest of my life, she will be my best friend.

She was she.

She was me.

This is just about Me, Myself and I.

The Goose 

Me, myself and I: a winning team
Me, myself and I: a winning team

Pictures by Unsplash, Pixabay


Mooi Leven, by De Gans has a page on Facebook, I would be delighted to meet you there.
“The Goose” also loves to gaggle at Instagram and, every now and then, at Twitter and at Pinterest.

6 thoughts on “Me, myself and I

  1. Wat een prachtig verhaal. Het heeft je veel gekost maar nog meer opgeleverd. En je hebt het op eigen kracht gedaan al zijn lieve mensen in een cirkel om je heen gaan staan zodat je niet kon vallen.
    Mooi mensch!

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