Mental Prisons

I feel myself becoming brave enough to break free from the mental prisons I’ve put myself in. These prisons have kept me safe for years - or so I thought. In my mind, they shielded me from the pain that, subconsciously, I knew would come with change, transformation. You see, for years I've been convincing myself that writing was just a distant dream of mine. One that I could envision clearly, but would ultimately fall through the palms of my hands if I ever tried to hold it. And though I’ve always felt called to use my voice through my pen, ironically, the idea of being fully seen was the very thing that has kept me hidden. For years, I locked myself behind the concrete walls of both my own limiting beliefs, and the ones projected onto me by others…and it’s time to break those walls down and set myself free.

If I had to start with my least favorite prison of them all, it would have to be:

The Fear of Failure. 

I’ve been locked away there since I was a young girl in high school — the very first time I decided I wanted more for myself. I was born into a family with generational trauma and poverty, but because I knew I couldn’t help my family through the emotional and mental dysfunction, at a young age, I decided instead that I would help them by providing financial assistance. In my mind, I would grow up and work hard so that I could give my parents and siblings the life they deserve. Rather than using my experience growing up in poverty as motivation to better myself, I allowed it to create fear around failing my family. I adopted the responsibility of saving everyone, so much so, that I didn’t see the ways I was failing myself. 

Then there’s Guilt - a prison whose walls began closing in on me the moment I declared myself financially responsible for my family, and where I’ve continued confining myself in up until this day. Though my parents have never denied me the encouragement to pursue my goals and dreams, whenever it came time for me to make large investments in myself - be it financial or even moving - guilt would come to swallow me. I’d think, “If I can’t be there when my family needs me, who will be?” Though the walls of this prison have always seemed unbreakable, lately I’ve been working hard to break them down a little bit at a time, and I’m starting to see progress. 

Next up, we’ve got the prison of: Perfectionism and Control.

I arrived here during my early childhood years, and my time here has been the reason I’d put every brilliant idea I’ve ever had on a backburner. With all the unhealed wounds and trauma that my parents carried and forever projected, the day-to-day energy in our household was always unpredictable, therefore, uncontrollable. I started noticing that when I would get good grades in school, it would shift the energy at home for a bit, and I’d experience my parents’ good side. That realization in mind, it only made sense for me to become an overachiever and perfectionist at school. Unbeknownst to me at the time, I would end up carrying this need for perfection and control with me into adulthood and apply it to every aspect of my life, which ultimately led to me believing that everything had to be perfect before I started anything - I had to be perfect before starting anything - including following my dream of becoming a writer.

Judgment - this is a prison I threw myself into later on in life, or at least, that’s what I think. 

There came a point when it dawned on me that I hadn’t been showing up as my true self, and once that realization hit, the fear of judgment would remind me that I had to keep a mask on. It started with being afraid of how people from my past would view me. Going back to perfectionism, I always found myself performing and trying to be the perfect child. Once I realized how much I hated that version of myself, it scared me. In my heart, I’ve always been against most of the societal norms, but was always afraid to walk a path that felt in alignment with me. “How would that look to others?” I’d hear the walls of my prison whisper to me. “You want to focus on yourself and travel the world, meanwhile, people your age are getting married and having children. What do you think they’ll say about that?”

Lately, judgment has me questioning my writing and if I’m sharing too much with the world. Will people judge where I’ve come from? Will the world judge my family? 

As I roll up my sleeves, grab a sledge hammer, and start breaking down these walls, too, it’s starting to become clear: the only person who has truly been judging me all this time…has been myself. 

Now, I saved the prison I’ve done the hardest time in for last: The Prison of Low Self-esteem.

When people see me, they question why I don’t believe in myself as much as I should. They  remind me that with my beauty and brains, I should be doing more. 

What they don’t know is that my low self-esteem stems from the many rejections I received as a child. Since the day I received my very first journal, I’ve used writing as my outlet. Writing was something I enjoyed, but according to my teachers, I was never the best at it. I can vividly remember being told that my writing skills were below my grade level. Being called out in front of everyone was embarrassing, so as a way of coping, I started telling myself that I was bad at it. Overtime, this killed my spirit and my dreams of sharing my light with the world through my pen. The last few years though, I began pushing myself. Slowly, I grew my confidence back by writing and performing my own poetry. It wasn’t until a recent mentor helped me change my perspective entirely—you see, I was never bad at writing, it was just that my teachers never took the time to show me how to write properly. 

All of these prisons I’ve locked myself away in for so many years, I’m finally breaking myself free from…and it feels good. 

I hope reading this inspires someone to break free from any prisons they’ve built for themselves, too.