When Perception Shifts, So Do People

Welcome to a culmination of random thoughts and raw honest feelings.

Today marks an anniversary that shook my world as a young woman and molded me into who I have become. Twenty-six years ago today, my dad began his own journey.

Does it make sense that today is the day that I feel more “put together” than I ever have before? I feel like it’s a gift from the universe. I miss him dearly and think about him every day. I often wonder about the conversations we might have now—what that would be like. Where would I be living?

There have been so many feelings surfacing from my past in the last few months. Often I would wake up in the morning standing in line at the tilt-a-whirl at the local carnival. Not spiraling downwarn but spinning enough that I can’t seem to get out of my own way. I truly (from the deepest part of my soul) trust in the magic of these darker times because I know that all the good parts come as a result of all of this.

I’ve spent a lot of my life seeing myself through other people’s perceptions. I don’t think I realized how much until recently.

As I navigate this child support situation, I find myself getting far more emotional than I think the circumstances alone warrant. Yes, the money matters. Supporting our children matters. Making sure things are fair matters. But if I’m honest, there’s something deeper being stirred up.

I catch myself wondering why he’s okay with it. Why he’s comfortable letting things stay exactly as they are when he knows the reality of what it takes to raise three children. I wonder why he was constantly checking my stories when we aren’t even friends. I wonder why, after all these years, it still feels like I’m somehow being punished. 

The truth is, I don’t know the answers to any of those questions.

Maybe he has reasons. Maybe he doesn’t. Maybe they have nothing to do with me at all.

What I’ve started to realize, though, is that somewhere along the way I allowed his perception of me to become more important than my perception of myself. The constant critiquing was utterly exhausting, I did nothing right. 

For years, I looked to him as though he held some sort of authority over my value. If he didn’t support an idea, I questioned it. If he didn’t believe in something I wanted, I wondered if I was being unrealistic. If he treated me like I should settle for less, I started believing less might be all I deserved.

It’s strange to look back on that now because when I think about the life I’ve built since our divorce, the evidence tells a completely different story.

I’ve raised three incredible kids. I’ve started a business. I’ve published a book. I’ve built a community. I’ve survived things I never imagined I would have to survive. I’ve learned how to fix things, navigate things, figure things out, and keep going when it would have been easier to quit.

And yet, somehow, a part of me was still waiting for permission to believe I was capable.

Maybe that’s why this season has affected me so deeply. It isn’t really about proving anything to him. It’s about finally proving something to myself.

Nearly a year ago, I stepped onto a trail with a backpack on my back and walked into the woods. At the time, I thought I was going on an adventure. Looking back, I think I was walking toward myself.

Something shifted on that trip. Not overnight and not in some dramatic movie-moment kind of way. It was quieter than that. I just started listening to myself more. I started trusting my instincts. I started having conversations I’d avoided for years. I started telling the truth.

A few days later, I stepped onto this platform and started writing.

The more I write, the more I realize how many stories I’ve carried about who I am. Stories given to me by parents, partners, friends, society, and people who had opinions about how I should live my life. Some of those stories were helpful. Some of them weren’t.

The one I’m letting go of now is the idea that I deserve to suffer.

Because I don’t.

I don’t deserve to struggle endlessly to prove I’m strong. I don’t deserve less support than I need. I don’t deserve to carry every burden alone. I don’t deserve to keep shrinking myself because someone else can’t see my value.

Maybe that’s what happens when perception shifts.

You stop looking at yourself through someone else’s eyes and start looking through your own.

And when that happens, people change.

Or maybe they’ve been that person all along and they’re finally giving themselves permission to see it.

As I’m on the trail, a song pops up on my playlist and it takes me back.

I can still remember mornings rushing to the bus stop with my CD player tucked into my jacket pocket, making sure not to run too fast. Otherwise the CD would skip. I was usually listening to Matchbox Twenty—specifically Real World.

I’ve always been so introspective and never felt like I fit in anywhere. Like I’ve said before, I’ve constantly had that inner monologue, just like Kevin Arnold from The Wonder Years.

Sometimes you start your day with one intention… and it happens for you. Without question or worry – just trust.

Dave Matthews Band brings me back home to myself. No matter what partner I’ve had, Dave has been with me through all phases of my life. It’s been on repeat the past few weeks. Different songs remind me of different partners and whatever inner thoughts might have been brewing at any given time.

I don’t know why it’s all surfacing now, but I do know that I have never been at this level before.

Old conversations float in and out of my head.

I remember saying in my own voice, “I want to try kayaking,” only to be met with a response of, “You only want to do it because Cathy does.”

Does that sound like support?

How about, “You should try it.”

A few years ago, I bought myself a kayak…and still to this day, I hear his voice repeat what he said. Who was that for? Was it his own insecurities because he wanted that? Was it jealousy? Or was it scarcity…because if I started doing the things I wanted and was capable of doing – I wouldn’t need him?

If you’ve ever lived a life where someone else handled certain things, you’ll understand. Sometimes the smallest acts become proof of your own capability.

I saw this video recently that said women in their 40s are basically who they were when they were 16—only now they don’t care what anyone else thinks. I feel like that’s why I’ve had DMB on repeat – this is that version of Laura who’s been hanging out waiting for me to get out of my bullshit and step into who I was always meant to be.

I don’t know where my parents are right now, I don’t tend to think they are flying high above me (that doesn’t feel natural), but rather walking alongside me in the woods when I walk, next to me in the car when I’m on my way to a client, or watching me make dinner for my kiddos (as I typed that that’s when the tears rolled in – and I think there’s a reason for that).

Maybe that’s why today feels different.

Not because I suddenly have all the answers. Not because the child support situation is resolved. Not because the money stress is gone. Not because I’ve finally figured life out.

If anything, I think it’s the opposite. I think I’m finally okay admitting that some things still hurt.

I miss my dad.

I miss my mom.

I miss the version of myself that spent so many years trying to earn love, approval, and validation from people who were never capable of giving it in the way I needed.

But I also think something beautiful is happening.

For the first time in my life, I’m starting to trust myself more than I trust other people’s opinions of me. I don’t need someone to tell me I’m capable anymore. The evidence is everywhere.

I don’t need someone to tell me I’m worthy. I’ve always been worthy.

I don’t need permission to take up space, to try kayaking, to build a business, to write a book, to ask for support, or to create a life that feels good to me.

Maybe that’s what my dad would want me to know. Or maybe it’s what I’ve been trying to tell myself all along.

Either way, twenty-six years later, I think I’m finally listening.

XO,

Laura

P.S. If you’ve been following along for a while and feel called to support the work I do here, you can send a little love via Venmo: @lferri28. Writing is free, coffee isn’t, and neither are teenagers.