Identity

Bonnie and Clyde: What Makes a “Bad” Boy so Desirable?

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Since summer 2014, I attended group therapy every Thursday evening. The weekly check-ins provided me a safe place to vent on a regular basis without having to call up my friends in the middle of the night when shit hit the fan. Well, a couple of weeks ago, I decided it was time to move on from my weekly sessions and entrust myself to handle things on my own in the “real world.” Just two weeks post group therapy, and I am already involved in the type of shenanigans that can only be shared during a confidential group session or over wine with the bestie. Somehow, I find myself juggling two guys, one of which is great for me – which makes him less interesting and desirable, and the other who is so incredibly wrong for me that I am drawn to him like a magnet to metal. Just months out of an engagement with Mr. Wrong, I have myself thinking, “What is it I find so desirable about these so-called ‘bad’ boys?”

I believe the answer stems way back into my childhood when I was first identified as the “good” kid. Unlucky for my younger brother, “bad” kid was the only label left by the time he came around. Growing up as little Miss Goody Two-Shoes wasn’t all that bad. I mean, I got away with A LOT just by passing the blame to my poor innocent brother. I mean seriously, my parents found a pack of PINK cigarettes in MY closet, and believed me when I said they were my brothers because I would never smoke cigarettes. *insert smirking face emoji* While I may have taken advantage of my brother on numerous occasions, I was envious of him despite the trouble and chaos that followed him around. At least he gets to be himself. To this day, I envy his “I don’t give a shit” attitude.

Obviously, no person can be all good or all bad (more…)

Opening the Cage and Learning to Fly

Maybe part of my lacking identity is due to my unwillingness to make decisions for myself. I don’t know who I AM because I always let YOU decide for me. I think this began as a child growing up with strict parents, or a strict father to be more exact. As a teenager, I started to become someone my father disapproved of. He didn’t like the clothes I wore, the music I listed to or the gender of the person I chose to love. As I began to live a double life, the person I wanted to be and the person my father expected me to be, I began to doubt my ability to make good decisions for myself.

As an adult, I have struggled to show my true self to anyone, including myself. By hiding behind a mask, my true self is protected from rejection. But she is also hidden from love and acceptance. I’ve locked myself in a cage in which I hold the key to set myself free. But the cage feels safe. What if what lies outside the cage is worse than the loneliness and despair that lies within? What if I never find a flock in which I belong? One thing is for sure, I won’t find my flock inside my cage.

I must fly with confidence that I will find where I belong, and not be discouraged by the flocks in which I am rejected. No one fits in everywhere, so I shouldn’t expect myself to either.

From the edge of my cage, I stare out at the bright, open sky of uncertainty.

“What if I fall? Oh but darling, what if you fly?”