Maya Zhorov, Period 2, 05/26/2023

Atomic Habits & Growth

Growing up, I was a shadow of my older sister, always being the miniature doll to her real life version. Adopting her style, actions and words gave me a sense of belonging, a curse disguised as a blessing, at a time when insecurity became my sister’s best friend.

Naturally, as the copycat that I am, that evil spread to me, waving its ugly talons, and hooked onto me. That's the point in my life when the rollercoaster of my childhood ended and the turmoil of growing up hit me with full force. Hating reflective surfaces, resenting family meals and overall just unsure of myself, my appearance and my character, I became a broken shell of the happy child I once was. So I found solace in books, in letters strung into words filling up pages and pages of stories that gave me that necessary escape from the evil of my own doing. Getting lost in a plot, I forgot how I looked and how I felt, easily finding acceptance in the comfort of the characters. Books gave me the temporary reprieve of that ever present cloud hovering over my head.

Reading soon became my thing; something to separate me from being that miniature doll of my “perfect” sister. It gave me peace of mind knowing that I had an outlet when life got too complicated. And as time went on, life naturally complicated itself, with the fear of new environments, making new friends, and the awkwardness of becoming a teen. I submerged myself in my own company and the happy endings that I always cherished. I subconsciously built up a wall like a fortress, separating myself from real life so I could delve in these idealistic worlds of my own imagination. Reading about other’s experiences became preferable to living through my own, consequently causing me to lose touch with reality.

It sounded ideal, the best coping mechanism. But too much of anything isn’t healthy, and books are no exception. My time consuming addiction strained my relationships with my family, due to my tendency to dissociate from the present. Never dealing with my issues with body image, I just pushed all my problems to the back of my mind so I could get peace. The fortress that protected me from reality was the barrier from my loved ones, I was an outsider never living in the moment. The old insecurities that were shoved to the depth of my subconscious, made an appearance, taking the lead of my doubts.

Our mind is often our own enemy, insulting us, making us doubt ourselves, never reaching our full potential. And yet, it is our biggest motivator. It is the realization of what hindered me which pushed me to live in the moment, bask in the company of the people I love, making my own memories rather than reading about other’s from a page. Rather than escaping reality, books leave me with gratitude for the life I live and anticipation for all that I will experience.

Absorbing the stories of every character, I read through each extremity that exists. I lived through the saddest deaths, the strongest love and the most imaginative experiences that gave me the identity that I yearned for as a child. I found the soulmate of MY story, within myself, that empowered me to pursue my dreams through my career, my relationships and my individuality. It is the knowledge of knowing who I am that gives me the purpose to step beyond what is within my reach and dream about achieving the impossible.