The Vivid Victim

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I remember a time when I knew I was defeated.

I remember it like it was yesterday:

I remember how excited I was to see an opening for a food blogging internship at our small (but well-known) local newspaper company.
I remember being grateful for one of my only friends that lived near me, taking me to the interview…
Because nobody else would.
Because no one else wanted for me what I desired:
A lax staff—cursing and beer nights every Friday (even though I very rarely drink).
Communal feel.
Chill vibes.
Looked fun.
I didn’t need, want, nor had any qualifications to work at the big stuffy sterile local newspaper company.
I remember getting the internship right on the spot.
I remember how excited I was to be a food blogging intern: my two loves melded into one.
I remember waiting on the bench outside the building for my ride.
I remember working it out in my mind, how I could pay for an Uber a couple days per week to take me up to my new internship when I only made $60 per paycheck, working on campus.
I remember celebrating with my friend as he dropped me off back home.
I remember walking to the door with a smile on my face.
I remember seeing a bright slip on the doorknob.
I remember my smile fading.
I remember losing.
I remember what felt worse: my mom winning.
When I wanted to have the ultimate decision over the path of my own life.
I remember what that bright slip meant.
I remember reading the piece of scrap paper the current food blogger had given me with her contact information—ink not even dry—and emailing her:
“I’m sorry, a family emergency just came up. I can’t take the internship.”
It hadn’t even been an hour since I’d left her office.
I’m sure my seat was still warm.
I remember never hearing back.
I remember not hearing back when I sent a follow-up message a few days later.
I remember weaving the narrative in my mind that she thought I was a joke.
A flake.
That I never took it serious to begin with.
I imagined her immense disappointment and judgement of me.
And it felt worse than any disappointment I’ve ever made a parent feel.
Because whenever I’ve disappointed my parents, it was over things they purely wanted of me.
But I wanted that internship for myself.
And I couldn’t have it.
I felt powerless.
I became embedded even deeper into the identity of a victim of my circumstances.
I didn’t know why I was here if I couldn’t live my life.
I didn’t know what it could mean to want to be a writer and having someone say “you sure can be!”
Only to have it ripped out from under you.
By something that isn’t even your problem.
I know now.
That I thrived off others’ validation that I could write.
I mean I knew I could.
Writing has always been my outlet.
It was where I went when I felt emotionally overwhelmed.
When I was overflowing with too many feelings to keep anywhere but on paper.
And people of all walks and statuses could see something in me as a writer.
My writing has always been my passionate form of communication in this world and the consistent validation of that was just the absolute cherry on top of something I already enjoyed that was intrinsically part of me.
So why then, could I not make the choice to pursue what was clearly my destiny?
Why were other people in control over my life?
Why was anyone stopping me from what made me happiest?
Why did no one believe in me?
Why did I have to fight so hard to do the only thing I enjoyed?
It wasn’t until nearly 4 years after that moment that I read a book that asked me:
“When was I ever 100% in my OWN corner?”
And then it clicked.
It was one of the catalyst moments in my manifestation and empowered personal development journey.
And even though it took a few more years afterward to get to a place where I’m strongly identifying myself as a writer.
(Not even realizing all the writing jobs I’ve taken on since college, in the midst of a chaotic life.)
I know the journey here was on purpose.
I know it was purposeful.
And I’m so grateful that life has led me to this.
To all the lessons learned.
To all that I’ve overcome.
To the realization—quite recently—that I can have it all.
The first step was just to truly believe it.
To advocate for it, for myself.
And I never knew how to do that back then.
I didn’t know how to fight for anything I wanted because my identity as a victim overshadowed everything else.
But now I know better.
And although remembering and reliving this story hurt the part of me that still relates to my younger self…
I’m so glad to see SO much more than I could back then.
I wouldn’t have anything to compare this clarity and self-love to if I didn’t experience what I have in the past.
There would be no contrast and gratitude if the only things I ever experienced were good, perfect, and progressive.
The world in front of me used to look so bleak and dark.
I truly lived with the mantra that “if this is the climax of my life, then I don’t want it.”
But I am so grateful to finally not only see the light…
But to have build it—step-by-step—so that I can intentionally see so much more in front of me…
Than I ever knew how to see in the past.

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Cierra M.

Cierra M.

Experimenting and exploring with my Human Design has led me right back where I was always meant to be: a foodie writing on her blog about manifestation, personal development, & anything that brings her joy. If you like my writing and other works, you can buy me a coffee. Thanks for stopping by!

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