happy easter

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So, it is now April, and it’s Easter. Happy Easter to those who celebrate.

I remember, as a child, I hunted for those hidden eggs with family or friends. There’s even a home video of it tucked away in one of the shelves of our rarely used TV unit.

When I turned 29 back in January, I had this compelling feeling to watch my younger self. I’m so used to feeling sad when turning a year older because I had this image of myself that wasn’t being fulfilled. When I turned 28, an age I didn’t think I’d ever reach when I was 17, I stopped wondering about the me that isn’t here. So, at 29, I felt like celebrating.

I allowed myself to celebrate another year of life.

And this Easter further reminds me of that.

Sixteen years ago, I was admitted to the ER because of low sugar.

Dramatically speaking, at 13, I woke up in the middle of the night to a bloody nose. (I’ve told this story a million times since!) The way I was raised, we were taught to deal with our own problems, so I didn’t feel the need to wake up anyone else. But I did share a room with sisters, and my mom happened to also be sleeping there. So, she noticed that I had gotten up.

A beat behind, she followed me to the bathroom. She swears she only looked away for a second, but when she looked back, I had already fainted head first into the bathtub. I didn’t make a loud enough sound to warrant attention taking her by surprise.

Panic ensues. My mom shouts for help. My older sister jumps from the top bunk straight to the floor, rushes out, calls 911, and like the superwoman she is dealt with that stuff with my mom. Everyone else kind of sizzles in the background until the paramedics come. My eldest sister dealt with that.

The biggest story my 13 year-old self or really, even older me, will ever personally go through is this whirlwind of events that I don’t personally recall. But I’ve heard it a million times that it’s become my story.

If you asked me 5 years ago or even 2 years back, I wouldn’t be as fond of this memory as I am today.

I had so much animosity against my family, that I was unable to appreciate something for what it was.

I don’t go to church anymore, and I don’t see the need to celebrate Easter, but it was a part of my life. I’m not retracting any of the bad feelings or excusing the wrongs done to me as a child. Rather, she lives in my memories. I hug her every now and again, especially when I write things like this.

She is someone I love.

But she is not my only defining factor.

After all, I went through a journey of moments to redefine my definition of “Self”.

post header image by @Burst