Oh Wow, Whipperschnippel

A while ago, my husband asked me: “What would the twelve-year-old you think if she saw you today?” My immediate reaction was negative—something like, “She would be aghast!” To which my husband responded, “Really?” I answered his question without thinking, intuitively.

When I was a teenager, I imagined myself living in a bigger city in Germany, perhaps Berlin, with an interesting job where I could dress up and meet intriguing, creative people. Maybe I would have been an event manager, the owner of a tattoo shop, or even an artist.

One thing was certain—I never pictured myself working a menial job. And I definitely didn’t think I would ever stop painting.

As for my looks, I was sure that one day I would be fit. I envisioned myself covered in tattoos, maybe with some piercings, dressed in a sexy wardrobe full of leather pieces. I saw myself wearing heels, boots, trench coats, belts, and chokers.

I never imagined that I would end up just wearing whatever is comfortable and fits my body. Sigh. Even when I first moved to Canada and started working my first few jobs, I still wore boots and skirts. What happened?

Ironically, I imagined myself much the way my husband thought I would turn out—toughened by my struggles, exuding confidence and independence, indifferent to the opinions of ordinary people. Instead, I feel mentally broken down. I have been in therapy for longer than I can remember, and last year alone, I spent over a thousand dollars on antidepressants and similar medications.

If my younger self judged me solely on my appearance and career, she would likely be disappointed. Back then, those things mattered to me more than anything.

Of course, I could argue: Berlin? Pah! I live in Metro Vancouver now—how’s that for a big city? I’m not just renting a place; I own an apartment in one of the most expensive regions in the world. I’m married—not just to anyone, but to an interesting and creative person. I am safe, secure, and healthy enough. I could do whatever I want with my life.

And yet, despite all of that, I don’t feel fulfilled, neither does my husband. My younger self would be disappointed, but so is my present self. Somewhere along the way I lost myself, my essence.