I spent most of my life letting others define me. They told me what to be and that's what I became. Or they told me what I was and I believed them.
I was so many different people, depending on who I was with.
And this was such a part of my life that I really had no idea who I was. And sometimes I still slip up. Sometimes I still believe what others think of me. Or I know it's not true but it still makes me question myself.
It's so easy to look to others for our value. It's easier to believe what others tell us about ourselves than to decide on our own.
Some people like me. They think I'm kind. They think I'm honest. They think I am strong and dedicated.
Others aren't so fond of me. They think I'm a snob. They think I'm selfish. They think I'm judgemental.
Still others claim to like me but constantly tell me what is wrong with me, how I don't measure up.
I'm an angel. I'm a witch. I'm self-centered. I'm compassionate.
All, some, or none of those things may be true. There is probably someone out there to vote for each trait, who would assign it to me.
But no matter how others perceive me, no matter who they say I am, I know what is in my heart.
I am a person. A small person in a big world. A person with a purpose who is just trying her best.
I am okay with that. And that's all that really matters.