"In life we do things. Some we wish we had never done. Some we wish we could replay a million times in our heads. But they all make us who we are, and in the end they shape every detail about us. If we were to reverse any of them we wouldn't be the person we are. So just live. Make mistakes. Have wonderful memories. But never second guess who you are, were you have been, and most importantly, where it is you're going".
Words to live by.
I haven't blogged in quite some time. Over the past few weeks, several friends have asked me why I haven't been writing and I chose to believe them when they said that they missed it.
Optimism...it's kinda my new thing:)
The past several years have brought about mighty changes. I feel whole for the first time in my life. While I deviated from my original course, it seems to have served me well. That being said, I still second guess myself. I tend to over think things ... always have. I vividly remember school shopping with my mother as a child and spending a half an hour mulling over which color shirt to buy. It drove her crazy. Years later when I find my daughter doing the same, I want to stick a hot poker in my eye. Doubt, even in the smallest of ways, can consume us and make us feel insecure in our choices.
Doubt ... I hate it.
I bathed in a vat of negativity for a few years. Looking back, I realize that I wasn't really negative but rather deeply sad and didn't know how to see the good in anything. I prayed and stewed and stressed and finally learned to trust my gut (who knew my gut was good for anything)? I climbed out of that vat and now seem to be the exact opposite ... overly happy. Don't ask. Not even I get it, but I'm not fighting it. Feeling happy is a good thing and after all I've gone through, I refuse to question joy. I'll take it thank you very much.
Matthew and I were driving to dinner the other night and somewhere in the conversation, I commented on how happy I was. He blurted out "YOU ARE"??? Clearly, he didn't view me as happy. The fact he choked on his drink when I said it may have been the deciding factor. His reaction made me second guess my happiness (stupid doubt). It occurred to me that if you are truly happy, you ought to share it with those around you. Was I happiness hoarder? Perhaps. Oh well, live and learn I guess ...
Throughout my childhood and early adulthood, I lived for others approval. I realized (later than I would have liked) that no one really cares about my happiness. People are consumed by their own lives and really don't have the time to ponder my happiness. Furthermore, we are all going to be judged by others regardless of our actions. We might as well as choose what makes us happy. I am in no way suggesting that we do whatever we want, whenever we want but rather that we know what is good for us. We must trust our guts and do what makes us feel good. While many would consider this selfish ... I have come to consider it sane. Overcoming my insecurities about what others think of me has been the single greatest thing I have ever, EVER, done. Go on ... read that again. I don't feel like re-writing it but it is truth and has changed me for the better.
I have concluded that I am going to be happy ... it's good for my health, my state of mind, and those around me.
I have always been a straight shooter. I have a horrible poker face and if you don't know how I feel about you ten minutes after meeting me ... you're an idiot. I call it like I see it and perhaps that is why some might question my declaration of happiness. I have always considered perpetually happy people to be phony. No one has a good day every day. If you do, than I would like the name of your doctor and the medication that he is prescribing you. I mean, SERIOUSLY.
As suspicious as I am of overly happy people, negative people can suck the life right out of you. I should know, I was one. It has been my experience that those who have everything to whine about ... simply don't. At the same time, I have met people who have everything and manage to complain about the lumps in the cloud they are sitting on. Everyone has something to be grateful for. Most of us have MUCH to grateful for. Happiness is a choice ... through much struggle, I have learned this.
So I fall somewhere in the middle. Happy but not delusional. Realistic, but not negative.
I remember the second job I had when we moved to Las Vegas. I worked at a shoe store. Right up my alley you say? Not quite. This dump sold sensible shoes ... or as I like to call them "I've given up on life shoes". It was a crappy job but I loved the girls I worked with so I stayed. Vegas was the first place that I lived away from home. It was my first experience using all the tools that I had been raised with. My insane and annoying boss Jim spoke to me on numerous occasions about my "attitude". I remember resenting these discussions and found him to be quite condescending. I found him to be phony and his attempt to be happy all the time was an outward struggle. It was visibly hard for him and at the ripe old age of 18 saw right through it. Having had a great relationship with my co-workers and realizing that I was incapable of sitting through yet another lecture, I finally explained my "attitude".
I would take day to day irritations that upset most and look for the funny in them ... in doing this, I avoided getting angry. I would then come into work and tell a story (most of the time an exaggerated one) and turn my irritation into a comedy act. It was my coping mechanism and more importantly made for a good time at work. I also expressed that I would rather get minor annoyances out of my system and move on than to be suspiciously happy and then excuse myself to chuck a shoe (a sensibly ugly shoe at that) at a wall in the stock room.
Crickets. He never lectured me again.
I am pleased to report that having survived the past several years, my perspective has changed and yet my personality has not. My humor (as offensive as it may be) is my weapon of choice and if you knock it...I'll cut you -
While I once feared sounding like a broken record, the fact is that we learn from our personal trials. It is normal to speak of our experiences as we attempt to feel our way through. I have known friends and family who exhausted topics of divorce, death, and financial issues as they muddled through their life lessons. As newlyweds, we became friends with a particular couple and the woman's alarming honesty made me both love her and at the same time, question her abilities as a mother. She spoke honestly about less enjoyable parts of motherhood that were draining and I clutched my newborn vowing that I would never say such things. Years later, I recognize my ignorance and so value her straight forwardness. Shortly after we met, she ended up adopting a young boy who had been born into a rather dysfunctional family. Having had some minor issues, she took him in and loved him like he was her own. I believe firmly that her ability to let off steam is what gave her the strength to mother not only her own kids but someone else's as well.
I have come to realize that everyone I meet has something to teach me and as a young mother, I learned much from this friend. Never mind that I haven't spoken to her in twelve years. I think of her fondly now. So here I go... It just wouldn't be me if I didn't let off a little steam of my own:)
Kids. The greatest blessing and biggest buzz kill of all times. May I go there? It's my blog so I'm going to go there. Read on, run away, whatever you wish. My blogs will someday be left to my children so they can get inside my head ... poor little things.
Over the past few years, I have found myself standing in a circle of three types of people.
- Those who have no children.
- Those who have small children and are still smitten with the tiny miracles they are.
- Those who have two sets of fully functioning grandparents who live to come over and take the kids away every weekend so they can spoil them rotten ( all the while giving mom and dad a chance to catch their breath)
I am none of these people and I want to hate the people in my circle. But I can't. I like too many of them and can't resent what they have or don't yet know. We are all here to lean on and learn from each other and how boring would life be if we were all the same? No thank you.
I am standing in the middle of the circle in my bathrobe with kids chattering incessantly. I am murmuring obscenities to myself like a crazy person ... I myself may even be wearing sensible shoes. I was a rockstar for quite some time. I coasted through the first decade of children without so much as a break. Oh wait ... I didn't take them to my parent's funerals... does that count? Well, my rockstar period is over and I feel like I finally understand the term bat shit crazy. Is there a support group for women of children who want desperately to live normal lives? I see middle aged women with bad roots sporting mom jeans and tennis shoes in the grocery store. They push empty carts and appear to be jacked up on Prozac exchanging glances with one another as if to say "I hear you sister ... I used to wear make - up too". Is this where they hold their meetings?
Up until this point I have maintained a rock solid marriage, gone out on dates with my husband and friends and stayed relatively up on fashion. That being said...I walk in the door and am bombarded by the needs of my children. Who I love. Dearly. More times than not, I want to turn around and walk right back out the door. It is hard to be needed and yet I know that it must be even harder to NOT be needed. Make no mistake about it, I recognize the blessing in being needed.
Don't go calling defax just yet. I adore my children. I love each one individually and relish their personalities. They make me laugh and I feel a wicked sense of satisfaction when I see them do good or use sarcasm correctly. I am in awe of how much they resemble both Matt and I and at the same time marvel at how they differ from us. It astounds me. If I had an ounce of free time, I might sit and ponder how incredible they are...but I haven't had free time in about fifteen years...so forget that.
When my children were babies, I dressed them up like show ponies and paraded their cute little butts around to show off. They became school age and one by one, I sent them off to kindergarten and volunteered in their classrooms because I simply couldn't stay away. I sang songs, read books, and wiped tears ... I was a good mom. I recall a business dinner that Matt and I had with an associate years ago and Matt spoke of me as though I wasn't there. He spoke of what an amazing mother I was and gushed over how lucky our children were to have me. I sat back and inhaled the words. To this day, it is the greatest compliment I have ever received. Ever. Perhaps it just meant the most.
Who knows...
Fast forward ten years and I am reminded (by doubt no less) that I am anything but a good mom. The kids are older now (16, 13, and 9) and the only thing they need from me is money, a ride somewhere, and someone to argue with. My baby is like a second skin and follows me around like she fears she may lose me somewhere in the kitchen. She talks about anything and everything and if I look remotely uninterested, her little face lets me know how hurt she is. I remained in bed for an hour this morning knowing that if she heard me wake up, she'd be in my room in a millisecond. My desire for peace and quiet outweighed my desire to get up and pee. I am exhausted on a level that I couldn't have possibly understood had I not arrived here myself. Mental and emotional exhaustion. I get it now. I am grateful for this lesson because when others once spoke of this, I had assumed that they were crazy.
They were.
There have been many seasons in my life and I have survived, not to mention, learned from them all. To date, mothering adolescents has by far been the biggest challenge of my life. It has also been the most rewarding. In being true to who I am and remaining my brutally honest self, I am here to report that this is hard stuff. I think of the hard times that I have experienced before. This is different. Not only are they annoying (did I mention that I love them? Dearly)? I worry so intensely about whether or not I am doing right by them that it keeps me up at night. I stress over their schools. Their friends. Their character traits and if I am equipping them for life. Matt and I lie awake nights and discuss the kids until we fall asleep and I wonder if I'll ever have spontaneous sex on the kitchen island again. Oh who I am kidding? We've never had spontaneous sex on the kitchen island. For starters, my entire kitchen has windows.
You get my point. Where was I?
I was the baby of six kids and my mother appeared to have it all together. I vividly remember one argument she had with my father and I saw her LOSE IT ... to the point that it scared me. ONE TIME in 18 years (and he was a pain in the ass...a wonderfully funny talented pain in the ass). My sister and I fought incessantly (worse than my boys do) and yet she never seemed to lose control in the midst of our hair pulling. We are now quite good friends. Go figure.
I have to believe that my mother cried herself to sleep a time or two. I have to believe that she gave serious consideration to sneaking off at night to travel the world and be anything other than a mother. I have to believe that she looked at my father on occasion and pondered if she made the right choice. I have to believe that it wasn't nearly as easy as she made it look.
I will never know so I have to believe ...
A parents love. Does it ever fade or am I emotionally bound for life? I feel like I am suffocating by my desire for freedom and my inability to let go and take a few steps back from the human beings that call me mom. When they were little, I had room for error. The older they get, I am faced with how little time we actually have to mold them into who they are meant to be. It consumes me ...
These not so little people make my head and heart hurt daily. Would they survive if I let go just a little? Would I?
Doubt....Freaking hate it.
