The strangest thing has begun to happen. I have become she.
I’m re-working old words into slightly new sentences and paragraphs, and it never occurred to me until just this week that I have told nearly every story of my life in the first person. It’s always been just a diary of sorts, but now as I edit and publish my old work, I is becoming she and me, her. Am I owning those vignettes I’ve captured any less? Not really. They are still verbal snapshots capturing moments of MY life, but after 40 years of days, if it’s one thing I’ve come to realize, it’s that our life experiences are not nearly as unique as we like to think they are. I am she, she who has lived and loved and been loved. I am she who has hurt and been hurt, fallen and gotten back up again. She has awoken some days so confident that she could not be shaken, and gone to bed some nights so insecure that she was unsure which foot she should place on the floor first the next morning. She has grown, matured, regressed and begun to grow again. She has known, questioned and stopped trying to know. She has succeeded and failed and gained and lost. She has been. She is. She will be.
She is EveryWoman. I am she, and my stories are hers.