Moving to a new city means meeting new people. For most, this is an exciting prospect, but for an introvert like me, it can be slightly traumatic. We all have a story to tell, and nobody is perfect. This is one of my core beliefs. Yet I feel that my story is particularly complicated and opens me up to negative judgments by people who are so inclined. It’s hard for people who don’t really know me, who don’t know what it was like when I was barely able to pick myself up off the floor, to readily understand the choices that I made. If they didn’t know me before, they can’t see how much happier I am now, that I am eternally changed for the better. There’s no way for them to understand, no matter how carefully I try to explain.
None of the people that I’ve met here have judged me harshly, at least not to my face. They have been graceful and understanding. I’m sure it is only my self-centered paranoia of the Dursleys of the world that causes my unwarranted distress. I’ve always been a bit different, unconventional if you will. There are certainly people who abhor all things unconventional. I am so pleased that I never really have to interact with those who have no love for different. I pity those who have such a narrow view of the world that they never see the beauty that is all around them.
I am grateful for the life I have. I am grateful for the one friend I have in my life every day, my husband. Without him, I’d be a wreck. He takes care of me all the time. Sometimes it’s hard to believe a person can be so dedicated. There’s only one thing I’d change. I shouldn’t be afraid to share my story. Mostly, people prove themselves to be much kinder than I expect. Life is good, and people are beautiful. Breathe in every moment.