The Forbidden Comfort Zone

Standard

What is it that they say…

Oh yeah, that’s right:

Misery loves company.

Well, I like to revise that to fit…

I remember the time where my comfort zone was my misery was my company.

I can remember over three years ago how I reached an apex of being miserable. Before then, I rolled in my own misery. It was like rolling in my own vomit because I had gotten tolerate of the smell. Just like when a person becomes so use to the perfume or cologne he/she is wearing…that he/she continues to dose themselves with more and more…like he/she bathe in it.

However, what tends to happen is the over the top scent repels people from coming around you—and does not attract them.

I remember that’s how I was. I also knew I was stinky as hell, and I didn’t want anyone around me. I knew my shit did not smell roses.

However, the stink was coming from my inner spirit. It was stained with hopelessness, unhappiness, sadness, and depression.

It was not bad as those yesterdays as a teenager where I cried absolutely extremely hard to where I was racked with exhaustion.

Yet, even then, I had my eye on the prize. I had my eye on the prize since elementary school. Maybe even before elementary school…because I became fascinated with the dictionary in the cardboard box.

However, after I graduate with my BA in English, somehow, I lost myself when I attended graduate school.

Wow, did I just admit that? Did I just admit that I was lost while starting and attending graduate school?

Reflecting on that time, I thought I was so sure of what I was doing. I thought that I knew enough and was trained well enough in writing to breeze right through.

Oh I was so fucking wrong. Just like my Freshman year, first semester at MGC, I was so lost. I didn’t feel like I fit at all, and I also felt like I wasn’t competitive enough. I had one professor tell me my writing was not good, and I did not belong in the program. I would be better suited for getting a Master’s of Arts in Teaching in Secondary Education. She thought my writing was inferior, and I should switch to another program.

That hurt really bad, and it took a hit on my self-esteem. As always, I revert back to working hard. I equated if I learned the secret to what 1+1 was, then, I would be fine.

But I wouldn’t change it all. Graduate school actually taught me to become a better writer. It toughen me up. Now, at this time, it has made me see that I didn’t fully understand what writing was overall. That I did not fully understand what the power of writing is.

I needed that education. I need that process. Looking back, it would have been better to wait, but now, I realize…it was best for me to go to graduate school because I needed to learn more. As I become older, pieces of the puzzle of critical understanding has fallen into place.

The process has shown me that even though the tough time, all I had was the words, my thoughts, and my ideas. What I also have learned, while I was reveling in my inner misery…putting damage on my spirit is that…

I am the visionary, and I choose writing as my tool. Writing didn’t choose me. I choose writing. Wow. Wow and wow….as I write that, I realize that the talent comes with in trusting my gut and assessing all situations so well that when I make a guess…it is usually right.

However, for a while, I lost sight of that vision. Being a writer. Being a creator.

When you get bog down with adult responsibilities, working, cooking, getting into a relationship and being a dedicated friend, you lose yourself. Or you allow yourself to become lost because it is easier being and doing those tasks and roles. It was easier to play super girl and support Rupert while he was finishing his nursing degree. It was easier coming home and making a meal instead of further focusing on my writing. It was easier to get lost in other peoples’ problems than confronting my own.

Because it is easier to hide behind other matters and other people than actually being honest with yourself. It is actually easier to forget about the very choice you made…wanting to get a Master of Arts in English…with I have completely choked because I do not have what it takes. Instead, you got into temporary part time work…and you are happy that you are doing something with what you learned over the years, but you realize with each job you have, it is not good enough. When you become depress, it is only because you know, you know that you are not fulfilling your destiny.

I was not fulfilling the vision. My confidence feel from complete grace. Instead of being that depressed teenager, I was a very fucking angry Sophia. I was so fucking angry. I was so fucking angry that negative side of me that I had kept in check since my undergraduate days burst forward. I was so fucking angry with myself and very mean to myself. The anger came from…I had plan and plan years on end…since I was a kid that I would become a high school English teacher or college English professor. That I was going to teach and do my own writing while doing it. When the 2008 recession hit, it changed the entire game and my plans. It gutted me, and I felt like a complete ass fool. I felt like despite all my planning, it blew up in my face because I believe in the myth that I was special. I am a part of Generation X…and Generation Y. I am a part of the ME generation. The generation that promised that I would be a professional just like my other peers.

Then, after the anger, comes the depression…and feeling numb. However, I still beat myself up for miscalculating.
One day, two years ago, I decided…this is going to be my year to get a full time job. 2013 is going to be my year.

When I claim that, I got a full time job. Most of all, I got a job where people respect me and like me. The graduate students in the department depend on me and trust me. So, do  my co-workers and the faculty.

However, although, I am happy that I am in academia serving students, now, I fall back on what I was really taught.

I was taught you always had a job to pay your bills. To feed yourself. To have a roof over your head. Clothes on your back.

BUT your passion, you keep working on it until you strike gold.

After my mother’s friend passed away, I finally stood up to myself and realize that I was eviscerating myself. I look deep down inside and questioned…

“Where’s that Sophia back in her college days? You know, the one who reinvented herself. Who had a lot of friends and acquaintances? The one who raised her hand in class and asked fifty million questions? The one who was known to be inquisitive and effervescent? What happened to her? What happened to the Sophia that was a fighter NOT JUST a survivor…the one who kept fighting until she reaches being a Victor?”

Man, oh man, I realize in that instance how much I miss that Sophia. And when that one day claim, I rose my fist up within myself and promise I would reclaim her.

I’ve been reclaiming her piece by piece.

What is brilliant about this is that I am older now. I realize my own power through my own experiences thus far. What I know is true is that…

I am a visionary.

I am a creator.

I am a reader.

I am a writer.

I am a leader.

I am a mentor.

However, all these work together and are interrelated. I am just starting to understand my superpowers. You know…

For those who are Buffy the Vampire Slayer fans like me, look back on Buffy. She knew she had power. She knew she was supposed to defeat the monsters in Sunnydale. There were many moments as Buffy grew older. Many moments were she wanted to be someone else and not the slayer. Many times that she didn’t understand her power….

Remember season 5 when she wanted to start to understand what a slayer really is. Who she is as a slayer? Remember she realized that she wasn’t invincible? That she wanted to know where her power came from? The origins of it…and to fully understand how to embrace and liver a longer and fuller life?

That’s how I relate to Buffy Summers even though I didn’t realize until now. I want to live a longer, prosper, and fuller life. I want to live to be an old ass woman…I want to live over a 100. I want to outlive my great-grandmother. In the key to that is…learning everything about who I am…and my superpowers. Where do they come from? Why am I am what I am and who I am?

The responsibility of great power comes from within. I want to know why I have this drive as a visionary….and why did I choose writing?

I am excited about getting older. I am excited about becoming an extremely old woman. I am excited because the more I learn, the more I know…the more powerful empowered that I am.

The forbidden comfort zone is to get into a rut where it causes you so much of who you are.

We all need heroes/heroines to inspire us to greatness. Most of all, we need to find our own ways to become our own heroes and heroines.

I order you to get unstuck from your rut. Trust me…little by little, it leads to self-destruction.

Cheers,
S

What is it that they say…

Oh yeah, that’s right:

Misery loves company.

Well, I like to revise that to fit…

I remember the time where my comfort zone was my misery was my company.

I can remember over three years ago how I reached an apex of being miserable. Before then, I rolled in my own misery. It was like rolling in my own vomit because I had gotten tolerate of the smell. Just like when a person becomes so use to the perfume or cologne he/she is wearing…that he/she continues to dose themselves with more and more…like he/she bathe in it.

However, what tends to happen is the over the top scent repels people from coming around you—and does not attract them.

I remember that’s how I was. I also knew I was stinky as hell, and I didn’t want anyone around me. I knew my shit did not smell roses.

However, the stink was coming from my inner spirit. It was stained with hopelessness, unhappiness, sadness, and depression.

It was not bad as those yesterdays as a teenager where I cried absolutely extremely hard to where I was racked with exhaustion.

Yet, even then, I had my eye on the prize. I had my eye on the prize since elementary school. Maybe even before elementary school…because I became fascinated with the dictionary in the cardboard box.

However, after I graduate with my BA in English, somehow, I lost myself when I attended graduate school.

Wow, did I just admit that? Did I just admit that I was lost while starting and attending graduate school?

Reflecting on that time, I thought I was so sure of what I was doing. I thought that I knew enough and was trained well enough in writing to breeze right through.

Oh I was so fucking wrong. Just like my Freshman year, first semester at MGC, I was so lost. I didn’t feel like I fit at all, and I also felt like I wasn’t competitive enough. I had one professor tell me my writing was not good, and I did not belong in the program. I would be better suited for getting a Master’s of Arts in Teaching in Secondary Education. She thought my writing was inferior, and I should switch to another program.

That hurt really bad, and it took a hit on my self-esteem. As always, I revert back to working hard. I equated if I learned the secret to what 1+1 was, then, I would be fine.

But I wouldn’t change it all. Graduate school actually taught me to become a better writer. It toughen me up. Now, at this time, it has made me see that I didn’t fully understand what writing was overall. That I did not fully understand what the power of writing is.

I needed that education. I need that process. Looking back, it would have been better to wait, but now, I realize…it was best for me to go to graduate school because I needed to learn more. As I become older, pieces of the puzzle of critical understanding has fallen into place.

The process has shown me that even though the tough time, all I had was the words, my thoughts, and my ideas. What I also have learned, while I was reveling in my inner misery…putting damage on my spirit is that…

I am the visionary, and I choose writing as my tool. Writing didn’t choose me. I choose writing. Wow. Wow and wow….as I write that, I realize that the talent comes with in trusting my gut and assessing all situations so well that when I make a guess…it is usually right.

However, for a while, I lost sight of that vision. Being a writer. Being a creator.

When you get bog down with adult responsibilities, working, cooking, getting into a relationship and being a dedicated friend, you lose yourself. Or you allow yourself to become lost because it is easier being and doing those tasks and roles. It was easier to play super girl and support Rupert while he was finishing his nursing degree. It was easier coming home and making a meal instead of further focusing on my writing. It was easier to get lost in other peoples’ problems than confronting my own.

Because it is easier to hide behind other matters and other people than actually being honest with yourself. It is actually easier to forget about the very choice you made…wanting to get a Master of Arts in English…with I have completely choked because I do not have what it takes. Instead, you got into temporary part time work…and you are happy that you are doing something with what you learned over the years, but you realize with each job you have, it is not good enough. When you become depress, it is only because you know, you know that you are not fulfilling your destiny.

I was not fulfilling the vision. My confidence feel from complete grace. Instead of being that depressed teenager, I was a very fucking angry Sophia. I was so fucking angry. I was so fucking angry that negative side of me that I had kept in check since my undergraduate days burst forward. I was so fucking angry with myself and very mean to myself. The anger came from…I had plan and plan years on end…since I was a kid that I would become a high school English teacher or college English professor. That I was going to teach and do my own writing while doing it. When the 2008 recession hit, it changed the entire game and my plans. It gutted me, and I felt like a complete ass fool. I felt like despite all my planning, it blew up in my face because I believe in the myth that I was special. I am a part of Generation X…and Generation Y. I am a part of the ME generation. The generation that promised that I would be a professional just like my other peers.

Then, after the anger, comes the depression…and feeling numb. However, I still beat myself up for miscalculating.
One day, two years ago, I decided…this is going to be my year to get a full time job. 2013 is going to be my year.

When I claim that, I got a full time job. Most of all, I got a job where people respect me and like me. The graduate students in the department depend on me and trust me. So, do  my co-workers and the faculty.

However, although, I am happy that I am in academia serving students, now, I fall back on what I was really taught.

I was taught you always had a job to pay your bills. To feed yourself. To have a roof over your head. Clothes on your back.

BUT your passion, you keep working on it until you strike gold.

After my mother’s friend passed away, I finally stood up to myself and realize that I was eviscerating myself. I look deep down inside and questioned…

“Where’s that Sophia back in her college days? You know, the one who reinvented herself. Who had a lot of friends and acquaintances? The one who raised her hand in class and asked fifty million questions? The one who was known to be inquisitive and effervescent? What happened to her? What happened to the Sophia that was a fighter NOT JUST a survivor…the one who kept fighting until she reaches being a Victor?”

Man, oh man, I realize in that instance how much I miss that Sophia. And when that one day claim, I rose my fist up within myself and promise I would reclaim her.

I’ve been reclaiming her piece by piece.

What is brilliant about this is that I am older now. I realize my own power through my own experiences thus far. What I know is true is that…

I am a visionary.

I am a creator.

I am a reader.

I am a writer.

I am a leader.

I am a mentor.

However, all these work together and are interrelated. I am just starting to understand my superpowers. You know…

For those who are Buffy the Vampire Slayer fans like me, look back on Buffy. She knew she had power. She knew she was supposed to defeat the monsters in Sunnydale. There were many moments as Buffy grew older. Many moments were she wanted to be someone else and not the slayer. Many times that she didn’t understand her power….

Remember season 5 when she wanted to start to understand what a slayer really is. Who she is as a slayer? Remember she realized that she wasn’t invincible? That she wanted to know where her power came from? The origins of it…and to fully understand how to embrace and liver a longer and fuller life?

That’s how I relate to Buffy Summers even though I didn’t realize until now. I want to live a longer, prosper, and fuller life. I want to live to be an old ass woman…I want to live over a 100. I want to outlive my great-grandmother. In the key to that is…learning everything about who I am…and my superpowers. Where do they come from? Why am I am what I am and who I am?

The responsibility of great power comes from within. I want to know why I have this drive as a visionary….and why did I choose writing?

I am excited about getting older. I am excited about becoming an extremely old woman. I am excited because the more I learn, the more I know…the more powerful empowered that I am.

The forbidden comfort zone is to get into a rut where it causes you so much of who you are.

We all need heroes/heroines to inspire us to greatness. Most of all, we need to find our own ways to become our own heroes and heroines.

I order you to get unstuck from your rut. Trust me…little by little, it leads to self-destruction.

Cheers,
S

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