I was having a crisis a couple days ago. And a week before that. And probably the week before that too.
I just graduated, I have a job in a market I thought I always wanted to be in, I just bought my own car.
And yet, lately, there are days when I am just not happy.
We don’t talk about these days.
I REALLY don’t.
I hate feeling vulnerable.
And, yet here I am, in a coffee shop, two hours before work, starting a blog I always wanted to start but always told myself I never had time.
My blog is called Patchwork Vibes, because every post, every sentence, and every thought, is a sliver of who I am. All different, all very unique, and yet, still, all me.
That’s who we all are, in fact. Patchworks.
I’ve learned along the years and especially the months after graduating, forcing myself to figure out who the hell I am, that that’s a hard question to answer.
I’ve been chasing it my entire life.
There were patches of me I hated, and still struggle with, as hard as it is to type those words.
Being an introvert, for one.
The majority of my friends are vivacious, bubbly, confident individuals. Who bring life to everything, who are loud, and in your face, and fun.
I’ve always been the relaxed, the mellow, the kind and introspective friend.
Don’t get me wrong, I can get on that level too, when my energy is on 100 and I’m ready to be around an ocean of people.
But the part I always hated was that quiet part of me who was ready to go home and retreat for alone time after a few hours.
Who couldn’t hang with the rest of my friends because my energy was draining and it was time for me to be by myself.
Who wanted to talk and join the conversation but my thoughts were calling me.
I always thought something was wrong with me, even though I would flip through website after website of Myer’s Briggs, Enneagrams, etc.
It explained to me what I wanted to hear and what I didn’t want to hear.
I would be (and kind of still am) obsessed with personality tests and sites about who you are, whether it’s zodiac signs or something else that helped me understand who I was. Or so I thought.
My point is, that I have been searching online and through advice from friends and everywhere else to tell me who I was.
Instead of looking into myself, into my being, and learning her myself.
There are days when we meet, and I think she is beautiful. I admire the patchworks that make her up, strive to make her better in every way, while still in awe of who she is today.
And there are days when I reject her. As I did this morning. Three hours before work, one hour before I made it to this coffee shop.
Got upset with her when she rejected hanging out with friends for the umpteenth time because she was too deprived of alone time.
Got upset with her because she can’t love herself, that she can’t love the thoughts that swim through her head when she’s having alone time, the creative side of her that thrives when she is alone.
I’m sitting down with her right now.
We’re writing the birth of this blog because it’s time.
Time to learn and live. Time to let go of the leash that has pulled so tightly onto who she is.
I gave in to her pleas, and sat down, ordered a hot chocolate, and wrote.
The first start to being yourself is to remove the social mask, the social blanket that covers up your inner wolf. The one who screams in the closet and wants to be heard.
Mine has been quiet and muffled for years.
I love this quote by Nikita Gill:
I’ve decided to stop apologizing for who the fuck I am.
I’ve decided to be friends with her.
I’ve decided to let the wolf come out and to howl, not at the moon, but to scare away the insecurity, the plight of becoming who I am and always will be.
Hello, let me introduce myself.
My name is Alexandra McKay.
Lover of the Mind and Ideas.
Green Tea Addict.