Pulling weeds while thinking it’s the root

The hardest but sometimes the best thing to do is just let go.
 
I have always struggled in friendships. I somehow only know how to be a best friend and have no idea how to navigate any of the other stages. I dive in head first into the deep end without looking back to see if my new friend joined me. I have set my standards and they seem unattainable.
 
God has been revealing that some of my standards and expectations should be only held for my future spouse. I have never been close to my siblings or parents. No one is to blame. Busy schedules and different interests didn’t help. I think un-diagnosed mental health issues add a whole new level. I know that my family loves me [and I love them] but I have never received emotional support or felt a connection. 
 
I have been searching for the connect, the sisterly bond in friends. The majority of people have great family connections who are their built in support system. I have received financial support but lack the personal, emotional support that every human hopes to have.
 
I told a few people that they were my support system but didn’t explain what that meant. That is because I didn’t even know where to begin or how to explain what I needed. I am still searching for that answer and how to explain to those who I have chosen to enlist as my support system.
I am doing good. I have felt complete peace since entering Michigan and God has been good. God is continuing to allow me to see the parts of myself that needs to be worked on. He is showing me the root of my issues slowly. I keep pulling at weeds thinking I had pulled the root. God has been gracious to allow me to work though the weeds to get back to the root and try again to pull the root out.
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Story of rediscovering my issues with speaking

I overheard a conversation that was something about a child who decided to not talk as often because other kids couldn’t understand him. A comment was made about how lonely the child must feel.

I can relate to the child because I became that person in most situations. Only my tiny circle of friends knew how much I liked to talk.

Unfortunately growing up, I couldn’t grasp the concepts my speech-language pathologist  was trying to teach me. Or it might have been that the techniques I was trying to learn wasn’t the right ones. Plus, I am very stubborn and I probably didn’t want to learn a new way of talking.

I still struggle with annunciation, opening my mouth wider when talking, and slowing down.

It has been suggested by two people that are in separate parts of my life to think about see a speech language pathologist. They’re both worried about job interviews and work environments. I don’t know if I will actually try to find one to see.

I saw the speech language pathologist during my preschool years up to around 6th grade. It didn’t look like I was improving so I decided to stop.

So I just looked up different speech disorders which is something I have never done. Not sure why I haven’t. Probably because I made peace with having a speech impediment.

I watched a youtube video of a girl who has apraxia and she sounded similar to me.

I am not claiming that I have apraxia over myself but it does help with trying to figure out I should go see a speech language pathologist.

Apraxia is a motor speech disorder. The messages from the brain to the mouth are disrupted, and the person cannot move his or her lips or tongue to the right place to say sounds correctly, even though the muscles are not weak. (http://www.asha.org/public/speech/disorders/ApraxiaAdults/ )

Learning about apraxia has stirred up emotions such as relief because I somehow never thought of not being able to speak well could be caused by a malfunction in my brain. I used to say I had a speech impediment but as some point I stopped. Not saying I am going to starting using the term again. I blamed people not understanding me because I knew I talk really fast, quietly, and do not annunciate well.

I have known I need speak slowly and more clearly. In situations where I am nervous or excited, I have hard time making myself slow down and try to be more clear.

I remember quite a few time during my freshman year of high school (years before and after as well but freshman year is the most clearest), many times people chose to laugh instead of asking for clarification or for me slow down.

My issues with speaking has affected me seeking help for my anxiety and depression. I hadn’t realized that until today. They may not have a major affect but they were part of why I took so long to seek help.

 

Breaking the silence

Because of other’s opinions and concerns.

Because I chose to be numb for so many years, I have been afraid of what emotions would come from letting myself process.

Because I am not the best writer.

I share my story because I know my voice matters. My story matters. I matter.

And  because I want others to be brave enough to share their story in any context they choose to do so. I want others to know they have a voice that needs to be used. They have a story that needs to be told. I want others to know they are worthy.

My story may not involve anything dramatic such as abuse, divorce, addiction, or any other thing that people find serious or worthy of being considered hardship in normal society’s eyes.

I had a normal southern childhood. Grew up in church. Grew up in a two parent household. Spent every major holiday with grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins. I even saw my extended family that more than major holidays. I had friends in my neighborhood that I either walked or biked worry free. We left our doors unlocked for many years.

I lived the middle class white family life. None is this is wrong.

These are just some bits of my childhood.  I want to share more just not sure where to start. I am going to try to set up a schedule to write more of my story. In doing so, I hope to get better are knowing what to include and know what’s unnecessary and doesn’t need to be included.

Another reason I want to share some of my story is because I hope to write a book in the future.