It’s not you, it’s me. How would I describe myself to someone? I am a walking contradiction, a living conundrum, lying paradox wrapped in layers of ambition and contentment, solitude and connection.

I’m full of sh*t.

One moment, I’m the girl confidently chatting up our local television news anchors and attending their baby showers; the next, I’m a quiet observer, finding solace in the shadows and the silence in the safety of my solitude. This is the duality of my life—a perpetual tug-of-war between what I long to be and what I inherently am. Am I made up? Do these points really not matter?

I side straddle the line between my ambition to be a successful go-getter and contentment in quiet moments of peace, between the soul-crushing need for absolute solitude and the draining desire for constant connection. It’s a continual waged war between the roles I wish to play and the realities I embody. Which ones are truly me? Which ones are the masks I think I have to wear?

This duplicity isn’t just a quirk;

it’s a fundamental part of who I am, shaping my interactions and guiding my choices. I am the person who sits quiet on the sidelines, but also the person who goes out to score the goal.

As I sit here, metaphorical pen in hand trying to pick one to describe myself as, I can’t help but laugh at the irony of it all. Is it the version of me that dreams bigger than what I know now and craves to be seen for what I am, or the one that cherishes the quiet moments and finds peace in solitude? Maybe it’s both. Maybe it’s neither. Maybe the real question isn’t about who I’m trying to fool, but why I feel the need to choose at all.

Both voices are equally loud and territorial.

When one is around, the other feels incapable of encroaching on the other’s land in my mind. In my head, I’m standing at a dark crossroads, each fork representing a different aspect of myself. To the left, a well-worn trail leads to the familiar comforts of routine and predictability. To the right, an uncharted route promises adventure and the unknown. It’s far too tempting to linger at this intersection, weighing the pros and cons of each choice, feeling the pull of both paths simultaneously.

Sometimes I just sit here,

at this intersection, aimlessly lost, thinking and rethinking and underthinking. I like it here, not choosing. It’s in these moments that I feel the weight of my duality most acutely. That’s who I think I am.

Sometimes, I wonder if this indecisiveness is a curse or a blessing. On one hand, it allows me to see the world from multiple perspectives, to empathize with a wide range of experiences and emotions.

On the other hand, it can be paralyzing, leaving me in a perpetual state of uncertainty, unable to fully commit to any one direction. To feel like a liar to myself and my own mind. How can I trust myself if I can’t even pick a direction?

I think back to conversations I’ve had with friends and loved ones over the years, trying to articulate this internal struggle.

“It’s like I’m two different people in the same body at the same time,” I would say, searching their faces for a flicker of understanding.

In those moments, I can’t help but feel pangs of isolation, a sense that my inner world is too complex to be fully understood by others. I’ve spent a lot of time developing this inner me but don’t have all the tools to express it. I often use humor and patience as my coping mechanisms. I remind myself it’s okay to embody both sides and neither, too. It’s not about choosing one path over the other but finding harmony between them.

Then, I remind myself—usually after a good cry—that this is the human condition, and everyone harbors their own set of contradictions and complexities. About my Dysphasia and Aphasia diagnoses that are hard proof I’m not just making it all up in my head.

There’s something cathartic about putting these thoughts to pixel paper, about exploring the dualities that define me without feeling the need to fix them. Yet, for me, it still feels like something I have to ‘fix.’ I can’t leave it the way it is. To become stagnant, for me, is to give up, to give in.

So, I continue to teeter this tightrope, balancing the various aspects of myself with as much patience and humor as I can muster I remind myself that “I’m okay.” That’s the true answer, I suppose.

A mashup of contradictions begging to be unboxed, piece by piece.

Thankfully, I found a wife who loves puzzles, even though half the pieces came chewed. Maybe, just maybe, I’ll find that it’s not about choosing one path over the other, but about finding harmony in the tension between them. A perfectly tight cord that I can pluck to make my own perfect sound. Maybe I’ll finally choose to learn guitar.

And there it is, my self-portrait painted in words. A chaotic self-blender of contradictions, ambitions, and quiet moments. So, now you tell me—how do you describe yourself?