Last night, I planned to write about the amazing yoga class I had. I love my Wednesday night yoga classes. They are a dynamic combination of yoga and aerobics, and I always leave the class feeling buzzed and happy. I had a tough and uplifting class, but afterward I spoke to my mother about something that has been bothering me for a long time, and I cried.
I was a good person before I started all of my rehabilitation. I was certainly immature before – rude, selfish, difficult, childish – but I was fundamentally still a good person. My therapy has been rooted in fixing me in every possible way, but I have let that negate the fact that I was a good person before I started this intensive work to better myself physically and personally.
I have matured through this process. I listen, I think of other people more, and I am more attentive and considerate. I am more responsible, accountable, self-disciplined, and independent. I have actively worked on all of these things, but they have also happened naturally as I’ve grown up. My rehabilitative process accelerated my necessary maturing, particularly because I made the conscious decision to change myself. My doctor and my sister criticized me to the point that I had to change; I couldn’t continue on the way I had been. That doesn’t mean that I was a bad person before.
I’m a good person. I would still be a good person even if I hadn’t chosen to transform myself emotionally and even if I hadn’t embarked on this journey to overcome my disability. I often lose sight of that because I work with everything I have to better myself; I think I would be happier and healthier if I kept it in mind while continuing to work.