Why Knowing Yourself Is Important


I’ve been angry before but what I was feeling at that moment as I reread the text over and over, I couldn’t put it into words. My hands were shaky, heat crept up the back of my neck, and my brain went completely blank.

Regardless of what happened and what was said leading up to this text conversation, being called something that I knew I wasn’t hurt the most.

I didn’t work on myself through the years to be associated with such words. And that is why I blew up.

I sent a long response, and I went on a blocking spree, blocking this person on all social media and their number as a way to shut them out of my life. And though it felt good at the moment, I couldn’t ignore the guilt in the back of my head.

Because truth be told, going down the blocking route was never my thing and I surprised myself that I even managed to hit the button. Even with past conflicts with people, the last thing on my mind was to block them so what made this time different?

To put it simply, I felt attacked. My character was attacked. If it was this person’s intention of getting a reaction out of me, they succeeded.

A reaction that I will forever pat myself on the back for because I can only count a handful of times where I stuck up for myself. In times where I should’ve been verbal about my feelings, I tend to keep quiet and let whatever slide as keeping the peace was always important to me.

I grew up in a household where yelling was the norm in arguments, and I found myself taking on the people-pleaser role just to avoid the loudness at a young age. It was an aspect of myself that I hated especially during my teenage years.

Because while everyone was rebelling against their parents, I was choosing to stay home to avoid any form of anger from mine.

Maybe it was the hormones or something deeper, but all I felt was irritation. My teenage years were filled with displacing my negative emotions into others, hoping that would make me feel better, but instead it has made me carry guilt even to this day.

I hated how snappy I used to be. I hated how on edge my friends were around me, and I can see why my friend group shrunk in size by graduation. I hated who I used to be and I never want to be like her again.

It wasn’t until I arrived at Mercy College that I finally got a grip on my emotions. Being away from home, the people, and the town I grew up in allowed me to breathe. And as clique as it sounded, a weight was lifted off my shoulders.

Maybe my horrible attitude was in connection to where I lived, but I could already feel a difference in myself as I progressed through college. My family noticed it as well.

I went from hating myself to loving whom I’ve become by the time of my senior year. It took a few “failed” attempts on my end, but it was all a part of the process.

I’ve broken down, laughed, and sometimes felt numb as I grew. I had to experience people who mirrored my old self and felt the same sting from their words as I’m sure mine had on others.

If I had the opportunity to go back in time, I wouldn’t do things differently. I feel like I needed to go through a rough, angsty phase in high school to become the person writing this. Self-reflection used to scare the hell out of me but now I’m finding myself doing it almost every day.

It took me 2 days to reevaluate everything leading up to the text conversation and the event prior that kicked everything off. I made a mistake, and I would even go as far as saying half of it was my fault, but what I received in a text? Completely uncalled for.

Being called names that completely contradicted who I am was uncalled for.

But this person didn’t know me. How can someone’s opinion, especially from someone I’ve met just a few weeks ago, rain on my parade?

Yeah, not happening.