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The other night, my sister made a comment saying that I’ve had many different personalities throughout my life so far. This made me sad because what she doesn’t realize is that I have no real sense of who I am. Everything I say or do shifts depending on who I’m with, and each version of myself has been shaped by the people around me. I’ve learned this to be called mirroring which is the unconscious imitation of others during social interactions. I’ve learned to adapt to my surroundings, even when they were harmful to me or others, because survival often felt more important than authenticity.

In high school, I was what my sister likes to call a hick. I hung out with the big truck, dirt bike riding, blue collar wannabes – the country folk. This fit somewhat naturally in a way; my mom and I had the horses and we did live that lifestyle but it still felt very foreign and turned into a buckle-bunny vibe and that repulsed me completely. And, not to sound like that girl but, I truly got along better with the guys than the girls. The girls were mean and kind of abrasive. I played along for a bit but while I’m able to adapt, I am also not someone who’s interested in doing something I don’t want to do. After leaving traditional high school and doing independent study, those people whom I thought were my friends didn’t notice I was gone. It was one of those things where, at the time, I didn’t give a fuck, but, I’ll be honest, I did. It’s now clear that they were never my friends and it was best that I disappear to find trouble elsewhere.

After high school came beauty school and barber school. Talk about a traumatizing experience; mean girls, drama, drugs, more drama, and weird codependencies. This era punted me into what would be an almost decade-long career that just about led to the point of no return. Explaining what went on in beauty school is incredibly challenging, but I’ll say it simply: it was a riot. The friends I made were never friends – at all. We trauma bonded so deeply that it became toxic and, frankly, inappropriate. There was a point with a particular person who made me responsible for her completely. I can barely explain it, but it scared the shit out of me because she was so reckless and fragile. Regardless, I didn’t feel like I had a choice and took it on. However, once I graduated and left, I never heard from her again.

In my early 20s, I found myself involved heavily with a group of people I worked with in a barber salon. At the time, I believe I was the youngest in the group. They thrived off of booze and sleeping with each other’s boyfriends. I don’t drink now and I really didn’t drink then, but I found myself surrounded by drugs and alcohol and learned very quickly how to pretend that I was participating but they were all too intoxicated to notice anyway. My hair was every color of the rainbow, I wore ungodly amounts of make-up – including lashes that I could fly away with – and let much older men take advantage of me repeatedly. It was a very rough time, and I truly wish to forget it because I have never experienced a more toxic environment in my life. So, I did what I do best.. I left.

What’s next? 2020 – the pandemic. Forced isolation was perfect for me. Or so I thought. Not making money wasn’t. Just before the first lockdown, I made the decision to work independently as a barber. I’ll be honest, I worked when I wasn’t supposed to, but people were too scared to get haircuts, and I couldn’t make enough. I was living with roommates who hated each other and wasn’t kind to myself physically and mentally. And, guess what I did? I left. But, this time, with nowhere to go. Fortunately for me, and by the grace of whomever is in charge of this whole fucking universe, the week I left, flew to another state, and drove until I had nowhere left to go, was the week that my dear husband slid into my DMs and Captain and I became soul mates.

I had the mindset of quantity over quality which most of us know too often result in friendships based off of false pretenses. During these eras or personalities as my sister puts it, I neglected the few real friends that I did have. It became too much and removing myself completely was much easier than trying to reconcile or frankly, accommodate any other person than myself.

It’s hard for me to grasp onto the idea that there are people in the world who thrive off of or are energized by social interaction. For me, the sheer thought of having to be in a social situation can be enough to drain me completely. The most frustrating part about all of this psychological warfare that I go through is that I have the worst FOMO and really do have a great time when I’m with certain people. I never want to be a drag or to be someone who is weird to be around. Fortunately, the friends I do have and really do love have known be for a very long time and even after I vanished from them for awhile, they welcomed me back.

If there’s one thing I’ve mastered it’s the Irish Goodbye – I can slip away, without a word, moving on without looking back. The hardest part is hoping someone will notice and they typically don’t. It’s always felt easier to leave than explain, to vanish and never confront what I don’t understand about myself. I’m trying not to run anymore. I’m learning to sit with my discomfort, question why personal relationships have always been hard for me to maintain, and allow myself to embrace the connections that have shown to stand the test of time. Maybe I’ll always be someone who struggles with social interactions or gets overwhelmed and drained, but I also know that I don’t have to navigate it alone. There’s still so much for me to figure out, but I’m looking forward to what’s next instead of planning my next escape.

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