Is it possible to change yourself?

The community hall standing isolated at the edge of a cow paddock with one lonely car outside elicits a forgotten memory. 19 years old, turning up at a community hall on a winter’s day like this, sunny but chilly in the shadows. Unlocking the door and turning on the heaters, waiting for the drama tutor to turn up, wondering if anyone would come to the workshop I'd organised. I always had such a feeling of fear in the pit of my stomach, of embarrassment in case no one came, or only one or two, and I was seen to be a failure. Why I thought I would be seen as a failure I have no idea – logic would suggest it would reflect more on the tutor’s pull-power than on me. But back in those days I thought everything that went wrong was my fault.

As I drive to my writing group past green meadows, past black and white patched cows munching grass in the sun, glittering brooks and winter-bare trees, I reflect on the person I am now. first went to this group several months ago alone, as I went most places then, knowing no one because I was new to the area. Not a thought about failure or embarrassment had crossed my mind. Now I have friends there. Today at least one person there will be expecting me and glad to see me. I will speak up and say what I think when others read their work, and read mine for critique, and feel relaxed and confident about doing so.

I wonder what that 19 year old version of me would think of this 51 year old version. I remember her well enough to know that she would hate me, fear me, envy me, despise me, loathe me. That was her response to confident, articulate, outgoing people with high self-esteem back then, people like the woman I am today. That girl who cowered in corners at parties, too scared to talk to others unless she was drunk, who hated herself so much that she sometimes wished she was someone else, even a bent, shuffling old woman living in poverty, just to escape the shame of being her – what happened to her? Because she doesn’t live here any more.

What happened was that I changed her. I read books, did courses, forced myself to join groups and apply for jobs, did therapy, learned self-help techniques, until she disappeared, piece by piece, and was replaced by the me I am now. As I drive I muse that this proves to me that people can change, that trying to change is worth it. There will always be some things that I find hard to change, like my poor ability to delay gratification, or tendency to get anxious and catastrophize. But I know if I try I can change even those tough, recurring patterns. If someone was to ask me 'is it worth trying to change the person you are – to become more positive, more outgoing, happier?' I would unhesitatingly answer ‘yes, absolutely yes - don't waste a minute starting’.