There comes a time in every woman's life when she has to decide what will define her. Will it be cigarettes? Booze? One night stands? Her friends? Her lover? Her ex? Her past? Her potential future?

But even more importantly, that same woman gets to the point where she realizes that nothing will define her but herself. Her dreams. Her goals. Her passions. Her ambitions. Her wants. Her needs.

It is so much easier to slap a label on and use it until it wears off, gets ratty and torn at the edges. Then slap a new label on and try it on for awhile. Constantly shedding one skin for another, one title for another. Going through life being defined by what you are putting out there and wanting others to see. The girlfriend label. The friend label. The wife label. The ex-wife label. The party girl label. The homebody label.

Then there is the real self. The real person hidden underneath that label. That woman who is screaming out for sunlight. That woman who wants nothing more but to wear the reality label. The experience label. The label worn by someone who has seen much and lived through even more.

Not one experience or thing makes us who we are. If we are nothing more than a combination of experiences and labels, finding the true one is very difficult. Knowing that what you are putting out there is real is one of the most terrifying things there is. Because with that reality comes the very real possiblity of it being abused, mistreated and used.

But goddamnit if I'm not finding those fears meaningless in comparison to living under a label of something I'm not.

Fear is the biggest label I've found myself living under. And that label is old, worn and tattered. It's time to take it off and face the music.