When I was younger, I had been nicknamed (by a family member) Wallpaper. Wallpaper, as a nickname, fit me well because social awkwardness led me to try my best just to blend in and not draw any attention to myself. As a result, I found for most of my adolescence, I flittered from one hobby, one group of friends, one set of interests to the next and each transition also changed my personality just a little bit. Maybe that’s true for all people, or at least for growing young adults, but looking back on some of my phases, I’m thankful that I finally figured myself out. Finally understood that the Avril Lavigne sk8r Boi look wasn’t for me (a short lived mistake) and I was never going to be an all-star basketball player or (and I cringe) a girl who should willingly volunteer to sing duets for school concerts.

The unfortunate circumstance of hopping from one personality type to the next led me down plenty of roads of mistakes. Dating all the wrong types (sorry, bro(s)), making bad personal decisions, and all along the way never realizing that I was, in fact, born with a backbone. I was a gal with the ability to determine who I was no matter what the outside world wanted me to be. I had the ability to defend myself when I felt pushed. Or the ability to be the best version of myself, take it or leave it, instead of opting to blend in to the woodwork.

Now, let me say this. I’m not the type of person that talks about “finding myself”. You would never find me seeking inner peace in the Peruvian Amazon or eating, praying, and loving my way to happiness and tranquility at the top of Kilimanjaro. It’s just not how I vibe and to each their own. I do think that by whatever means necessary, discovering who you really are is essential to your well being and must be done asap. For me, it was time to start asking myself hard questions. Questions I needed to know the answers to in order to get behind the wheel of my own life bus (what? I don’t know). I needed to understand what in my life was truly bloody awful and what I could do about it, what I needed more of in my life, what value I brought to others, and what my ideal life would look like from day to day. This would be my way of soul-searching.

At the time of my deep-thinking/soul searching quest, I didn’t write these questions out, but they frequently came to my mind. If I were into journaling, I could have made these questions daily journal entries. Instead, in my time alone, I would think about how I wanted/needed to change my life for the sake of my emotional well being. The weight on my shoulders was about to push me right over the edge and something had to give. Going forward, I was going to have to put up a fight for the reigns. As I searched for answers, I found out that I wasn’t a bad person; I am flawed like everyone else. I could (and did) apologize for my shortcomings, that I could always improve myself, but I didn’t have to become the person other people said I should be. Every article that said what kind of mom, wife, sister, cousin I should be, didn’t have to be taken as do or die. Most importantly, I realized that I hadn’t been doing my best for my little family (and in some ways they were letting me down, but let’s call a spade a spade…it’s probably because I was a miserable cow).

I accepted that I wasn’t going to be the girl for everyone; that some just aren’t “my people” and I’m not theirs; that’s ok. I yam what I yam, Popeye. I found that though I counted every new and old friend as a blessing (because I’d worked awful damn hard to get them), I could be content in my own company. I understood that I had willingly participated in information that was only intended to make me feel left out; information designed to hurt me that had been spoon fed to me like a child. In the future, I would no longer seek out ways to feel bad about myself as I’d done too many times. I also learned that in order to get out of my funk, I would have to put in more effort on my appearance. If I didn’t bother putting on a cute outfit or fixing my hair, I was going to continue to feel like a sack of kitty litter. I realized that the fad of farmhouse (one that I followed as religiously as Jo Gaines herself) was cute for some, but to me the rust seemed too dirty, the galvanized buckets too cold, and the doilies and ticking cloth were suffocating. I was born for more order, clean lines, white. If that made me different, so be it.

To me, this process was the meaning of minimalism. This act of cutting the crap and shifting focus to the things that are most important in life. Striving for happiness and freedom through getting rid of the things that strangle you half to death emotionally and physically. Life is too short, my friends, to keep on with this nonsense of not being true to you; to be consumed with perfection and competition. I had several gorgeous women tell me, when I began this process, that when you turn forty, all the little piddly drama you fret over in your twenties and thirties, doesn’t even matter anymore. By then, you’ve come to terms with your place in life, you’ve figured out what makes you happy, and the rest couldn’t matter more than a hill of beans. For me, I couldn't wait until I turned forty and decided that I was going to make all the strides necessary to develop that mentality in my thirties. Take my own quote to heart, “You do what you do. I’m going to do what I do.”

Have you done some major soul-searching to find out what makes you “you”? What are you waiting for, Christmas? What would the answers to these questions reveal about your life?