Running from Myself: A Journey of Illusion & Truth

Running From Myself: A Journey of Illusion and Truth

For thirty years, I ran from myself. I ran from my wants, my desires, and my why. I ran from my name and the weight it carried, as fast and as far as I could. My past, my memories, my legacy—they became shadows I couldn’t bear to face. I thought if I could just outrun them, I could become someone new, someone untainted by the pain I left behind.

And so I reinvented myself.

I moved miles away, leaving everything familiar behind. I spent years working on being sober. I re-educated myself. I tore apart every belief I once held, deconstructed and reconstructed the very foundation of my identity. I built a name for myself—a name that stood for all the qualities I wished to embody: driven, compassionate, educated, reliable, competent. I threw myself into my community, volunteering, building connections, and trying to earn respect.

For a moment, I believed I had made it. I thought I had escaped the ME that I was desperate to leave behind.

The Illusion of Escape

But the truth has a way of finding you, especially in the quiet moments. Behind closed doors, away from the busyness of becoming the "new me," the old me lingered. She whispered in the silence, her pain echoing in my chest. I ignored her as best as I could. I told myself that if I stayed busy enough, if I kept piling accomplishments on top of her, she would disappear.

This denial became a way of life—a dangerous, destructive self-illusion. Believing I had outrun ME made me vulnerable to other illusions, too. I became an expert at protecting the facade, at shielding it from anything that might expose the truth.

The cost of this illusion was high.

The Domino Effect of Denial

My ability to ignore the real ME seeped into every corner of my life. It hardened my convictions to the point of rigidity. It made me cling to beliefs that no longer served me, even as they broke my heart. It drove me to hurt people I loved, to push away those who tried to love me despite the walls I had built. I became more judgmental, more exclusive, more distant from the open-hearted person I had imagined myself to be.

How could this have happened? All I wanted was to be better—to be enlightened, open-minded, nonjudgmental. I wanted to help others escape the version of themselves that brought them pain. I thought I was teaching others to let go of their shame and suffering. But in truth, I was only teaching them to hide it, as I had hidden mine.

What I realize now is that if I wanted to protect the façade, I couldn’t let go of certain beliefs. To let go of those beliefs would mean confronting her, confronting ME.

Listening to the Voice Within

I see now that my journey wasn’t about becoming someone new. It was about embracing the ME I had tried so hard to leave behind. She is the one who carried my pain, my shame, and my suffering. But she is also the one who carried my strength. She is the voice that refused to be silenced, the presence that wouldn’t let me forget her. She was always there, and she never gave up on me, even when I gave up for her.

I ran from her, but she never gave up on me. Even when I buried her in darkness, she screamed. She screamed for acknowledgment, for light, for love.

And in the quietest moments, when I could no longer drown her out, I heard her. I heard her suffering, her resilience, her plea to be seen.

Embracing Myself

Running from myself taught me the futility of escape. It taught me that healing isn’t about erasing parts of ourselves—it’s about accepting them fully. It’s about turning toward the pain, the shame, and the memories we want to forget, and saying, “I see you. I hear you. You belong.”

I am grateful for ME, the version of myself I exiled and tried to suffocate. She is the foundation of who I am today. She taught me that true healing begins when we stop running and start listening.

If you find yourself running from who you are, I urge you to stop. Sit with the parts of yourself you fear the most. Listen to their cries, even if they are painful. Because within those cries is the truth of who you are—the truth that will set you free.