Karma Chameleon

Chameleons are some of the coolest creatures. They’re able to change their appearance in accordance with their mood or temperature change or out of self-preservation. They can alert potential mates they’re interested by displaying vibrant, attractive colors. They can sense danger and naturally begin to blend into their surroundings with more light, neutral tones. If they want to assert dominance and tell others to fuck off, they get dark. Not necessarily murderous, just…darker.

I’ve always considered myself a chameleon of sorts. The tattoos I have don’t exactly allow me to blend in, but I’ve always been able to assess and adapt to situations and people. My anxiety towards any kind of conflict and desire to be well-liked have contributed greatly to this ability.

I never really considered myself to be fake. I just learned how to be what someone wanted or needed me to be. Mean girls in school looking to target me? I’d imitate my lizard friend and fade into the background, making myself small and invisible. Mom and Dad fighting again? I’d brighten a bit and be the best daughter I could be. Most well-behaved, straight A’s, devoted to God and the family, etc. Someone bullying someone else? Suddenly I was puffed up and unafraid of anyone and anything. And there was nothing wrong with that.

However, I took it too far for far too long. It went beyond the larger picture. Soon, I wasn’t just blending in occasionally. I, the real me, became invisible. Nonexistent. Extinct.

I adopted my boyfriend’s music taste, even though rap wasn’t even allowed in my house. My friends loved horror movies, so they were my favorite now, too. I honestly can’t tell you how many nightmares I would, and still do, wake up from in a sweat. Someone would nit-pick about something that was wrong with me, so I’d change. No one can complain if there is nothing to complain about, right?

Wrong. There is always something. Not everyone likes the same things. I figured that out, too. So, I fractured myself even further. I became all things to all people. My youth group got one version, while my family received another. Then my friends. My boyfriend. Even strangers got the perfectly nice and respectful version I’d crafted. Everyone, everyone got someone. Except me.

I had nothing left to give. And even if I had, I’d let go of so much of who I was, I didn’t know who I was, what I liked, or what I wanted to do or be.

For years I lived as chameleon, shifting and changing to be what I thought was safest and would keep me in the “in-crowd.” I had so many friends. Growing up, I’d watched my eldest sister come and go with an entourage following. I’d always envied that. And while no one was following me, I was right in the middle of it all. The middle is where I’d always wanted to be. I finally had everything I’d worked so hard for.

But dreams are just that, aren’t they? Dreams. At some point you have to wake up. I was allowing things to happen because I was afraid of what would happen if I said no. If I said I didn’t want this anymore. If I said I’d never wanted to be this…creature. And what color is a chameleon when they’re not camouflaged? Do they know who they really are? I didn’t. And, to me, that was confusing and scarier than the movies I forced myself to sit through.

Did you know that frequent or rapid color changes are stressful for chameleons? They can get sick from it. And that’s what was happening to me. I was sick, exhausted. Mentally, I was breaking. I sensed danger from all sides, but my usual tactics weren’t working. The threat was now attracted to the neutral, compliant persona I had adopted. And I was stuck. My color wasn’t changing; I didn’t know what to change into to get out. To make it go away.

But I forgot that a chameleon’s main purpose for changing colors is not to camouflage themselves. They change to communicate. I’d never done that. I was trying to say as little as possible. I wanted to blend in, be what everyone needed and wanted. But in doing so, I let what I wanted and needed become less important to me than to anyone else. I used my ability, but not for it’s true purpose.

Before a chameleon sheds their skin, they pale and look weak. That’s how I felt, weak. But another change was necessary. And this time, it was solely for my benefit. It was scary. And stressful. And those fears of people not liking/wanting me, the real me, came true. That large group of friends that I was surrounded by, they walked away.

But the danger was gone. And, as it turns out, I wasn’t completely alone. There were a few who remembered me, the real me. And they loved me. Every version, but especially the authentic one. I began to brighten, naturally. I began to thrive. My family and true friends didn’t need some polished version of me. I didn’t need to perfect. I just needed to be me.

Oh, and one more fun fact about our scaly friend. DO you know what color a chameleon is when they’re happy and feel safe?

They’re green.