B.Løvetann

For a long time, I’ve told my therapists that I feel divided—as if I consist of two opposing versions of myself.
On one side, I’m doing well.
I know I’m just as worthy as anyone else.
I know I’m a good person. I’m confident in both my personality and the person I’ve become.

But then the other voice quietly creeps in.
The one that tells me I’m worthless.
That I’m not worthy of being loved.
That I’m broken.
Who could ever put up with me?
Who am I to believe that someone could truly love me?
Building close relationships is difficult.
I become afraid.
Suspicious.
My trust comes and goes.

So, on one side, I know that I am a complete and worthy human being, with the same value as everyone else.
On the other side, I feel the exact opposite.
And that’s incredibly confusing.

Most days, I’m a positive person.
I have a lot of energy, I laugh often, and I usually manage to find something good, even in difficult situations.

But every now and then, I fall into a valley.
My motivation disappears.
My joy fades.
My spark for life seems to vanish.
It feels as though my past catches up with me.

A small trigger—sometimes just a single comment—can leave me trapped in overthinking for an entire week.
The bigger triggers can pull me into a very dark place.
When that happens, I withdraw from people.
I isolate myself.
Deep down, I know I’m not in danger.
But my body reacts as if I am.
Only much later does my mind catch up and become rational again.
I’ve also spent much of my life blaming myself for other people’s actions.
Today, I understand that these are trauma responses.
It’s my body reacting to old experiences. It’s still trying to protect me from a danger that no longer exists.

Yet these reactions remind me of the little girl I once was.
The girl who was always searching for signs of danger.
The girl who believed everything was her fault.
The girl who learned that love could hurt.
Maybe that’s why I still feel divided.

The adult Anne Marie knows she is worthy.
She knows she is enough.
She knows she deserves to be loved.
But the little girl inside me doesn’t always agree.

I often feel misunderstood.
People don’t always see me for who I really am.
Instead, they see the person they believe I am.
And that creates uncertainty.

Because I am the cheerful, outgoing woman.
But I’m also the woman who carries darkness inside her.
The one who finds large crowds exhausting.
The one who can experience anxiety attacks when everything becomes overwhelming.
The one who constantly observes everything happening around her and needs days to recover afterward.

Sometimes I feel that people think I’m less intelligent than I really am.
Maybe because I’m absent-minded.
A little impulsive.
A little unfiltered.
And yes—there are plenty of people who are smarter than I am.
I have no problem admitting that.
But it doesn’t bother me.

Because other people’s perception of me is not what defines who I am.
What defines me isn’t my trauma.
It isn’t my fear, my anxiety, or my bad days.
They are part of my story.
Not my whole story.

What defines me is how I choose to move forward.
That I remain curious.
That I still have hope.
That I still believe there are good people in this world.
And that, despite everything I’ve been through, I still choose love over bitterness.

I am so much more than what you see.
And at the same time, so much less.