I should have started with this. But its hard. My perspective has always been a little skewed about myself. The older I get the more I think that what I thought about myself is less true and the more I get to know who I really am. Like it or not.
I once would have said that I never lied. Hated liars in fact. But its come to my attention that I do lie. Not monumental stuff mind you… just baby lies. When I want to get off the phone I say, ‘I’ll call you right back’. I don’t mean it. What I should say is, “I’m tired of talking to you, or to anyone for that matter, so I’m hanging up now”. But I don’t want to hurt feelings. So I lie. I will never tell you that you look fat. Even if you do. That’s just how I roll.
I always thought I loved big crowds. I really don’t. 8-10 people is my max. But I prefer one at a time. Or maybe two. I do not like to be the center of attention and I don’t have nearly the self confidence that I am able to fake. I hate social events where everyone dresses up and pretends to be someone they aren’t.
I am not modern or high fashioned. I hate shopping. My underwear never match my bra. Wal-mart overwhelms me to the point that I look at all of the crap lined up on the shelves waiting to be bought and then forgotten and I just feel depressed.
My hair, is curly and wild and out of control most of the time not because I do it on purpose but because I am a lazy morning person. I dislike fake fingernails and nearly punctured my ear drum the last time I was talked into getting them.
My alter ego would like to get on a Harley without a helmet and ride down Highway 101 on a sunny warm day even if its not safe. Regardless of the fact that I don’t want my 15 year old to cross the road without holding my hand to keep her safe.
I know the sun gives you cancer but I love it anyway. I never felt closer to God than in a church in Mexico where the floor was dirt and the hymns were in Spanish. I do not separate my laundry and I have a sock basket that intimidates even me.
I’m not a jet setter. I have no desire to see France. My favorite place in the world is a Sunny Day at a Lake or Stream, a good book and a cooler of cold beer.
Farts embarrass me but I don’t mind sharing my toothbrush.
I hardly ever let myself cry in front of anyone. I cry sitting in the bottom of my shower in the dark, sometimes until the water runs cold.
My favorite song is Brown Eyed Girl by Van Morrison. It makes me want to swing around in circles, tip my head back, shake my hips and sing. No matter where I am. I once had it as my ring back tone for so long people were begging me to remove it.
My Dad died when I was barely old enough to remember him and I inherited an angry alcoholic stepfather who did his best but wasn’t a lot of fun most of the time. My Mom was a manic screamer whose inner child by all appearances had been broken along time ago, mostly we forgave her because she would bake us Betty Crocker Lemon Pudding Cake while we watched a late night movie. That and she was Mom.
I would say my immediate family was dysfunctional. but I’m not sure that even covers it. Even as adults we struggle with relationships with each other and aren’t afraid to take each other down when even the smallest weakness is observed.
I have learned to reach outside and seek family from the circle of people who offer positive reassurance and unconditional love. The others, I simply do not have the energy to let into my bubble. My Light is still fragile. I have to protect it.
I nearly died from stubbornness when I insisted a ruptured appendix was a bad case of gas and refused to go to the ER. It was only at the insistence of my friend Chloe who googled my symptoms that I finally gave in and went. The doctor told me that had I waited a mere hour later, I would have died from Toxic Shock.
I had to abort my first baby at 6 months due to severe complications and I have stood at the grave of a miniature casket and buried premature twins. I railed at God for 20 years. I had my first Panic Attack the day my oldest daughter drove off with her new drivers license, all by herself.
All I ever wanted to be when I grew up was a Mother and a Wife. The first I’m proud to say has been one of the best things I have ever done and done well. I have two amazing mature beautiful daughters, each with very different and distinct gifts and personality’s. I appreciate and love them more than words can even express.
The Wife Part, I haven’t quite mastered that yet. And I say yet, because I’m not giving up on it. I love the idea and sanctity of marriage.
My Man Picker seems to have been broken. Not that I’ve picked all bad men (this is my little disclaimer) but not the right men for me. Up until now.
I will probably always refer to my first ex-husband as Dumb Ass, because he has given me so much grief trying to co-parent over the years. I know that all the books say we should at least appear to be getting along… but F that. I’m just not that good of a liar.
My second ex-husband will be referred to as Alaska Bound Man, because it was his trip out of my bedroom into the garage for a year and then off to Alaska that forced me out of the bottom of the shower and into my closet where I put on my big girl panties and changed my life and started to look inward.
I have never felt more weak and scared about finances while at the same time empowered knowing I can live on so little. I am madly and passionately in love with a man that for the first time in my life I feel completely compatible with. My daughters are almost raised and out of the house and I couldn’t be prouder of who they have become.
I am sitting on the Precipice of a huge change. I can feel it. It vibrates within me.
And with that. I say Cheers to the Weekend.
