What Doesn’t Bend, Breaks.

 

There is something about this third decade of my life, that has opened my eyes, and my heart, just a little bit wider. For those that believe people don’t change, it’s unfortunate they missed this stage in life.

Change is necessary. It’s a platform for growth.

I can look back at the last decade of my life with perspective and a bit more earned wisdom. I can see where I steered off course, made poor choices, mistaken certain things, relationships or events for what really matters. But I regret none of it. I appreciate and know the value of the scars left behind.

I’m learning how stillness, can lend itself to moving forward. Simple motions in time, like drinking coffee on the porch, watching the kids play outside, has become way more important than a big house or expensive vacations. Our five year plan has totally morphed in to a “it will get done eventually” mantra. I’ll give up damn near everything for sunny days in the backyard with the young babes though.

I’ve definitely become more of the tortoise and less the hare. Yes, some of that may actually be due to the arthritis in my hip and sleep deprivation (yes I said I’m in my 30’s and not my 70’s); however, it’s more to do with me just being in less of a rush these days.

Had I not been in my late 20’s when I became a Mom, I don’t know that I would have been wise enough or selfish smart enough, to realize being a Mother isn’t enough. Learning how to unconditionally love others is a gift and is fulfilling. But learning how to love yourself and evolving, is necessary.

I’m not afraid to hold myself accountable to how I’m feeling anymore; or other people for that matter. I used to avoid this behavior. I don’t like confrontation. Whether it be with a best friend, co-worker, my husband, a boss or myself – I hate it. But it doesn’t scare me anymore. It doesn’t make me feel like I would rather curl up in a little ball rather than say what I need to say. I feel like my voice is streaming from a foundation worth paying attention to.

I think my drive to overcome the helplessness instilled in me, and my maternal instincts, have met at just the right time. It’s quite empowering. Both are teaching me to how to bend instead of break.

Living in the past kept me stagnant and scared. Ignoring it left me defeated. Understanding how it is connected to me now, as a woman and still pretty new Mother, seems to be right where I need to be at this point in my life. Some would say, of course you are right where you are supposed to be, where else could you be? I’d say it depends on the day.

Some days, I’m able to call myself out on my own irrational thoughts. I can pin point envy in the way I find myself judging other people. I have to ask myself why things matter so much – if it’s because it appears it will make life easier, or it’s because of what other people may think, than I know I need to check myself. Authenticity isn’t born out of ease or other people’s opinions.

I guess that’s really what I am chasing these days. Authenticity. To carve out the baggage and fine tune my soul. Every other day, I feel like I am starting from scratch. That in itself, is a beautiful lesson.

 

 

 

Kermit The Frog Changed My Life.

I had a co-worker once, who asked me if I planned to get my Master’s degree. With immediacy, my response was, “I have to.” At that point in my life, hearing her response, “No, you don’t”, just irritated me. What did she mean, I didn’t have to? Yes I did, so I could then do X, Y and Z.

Everything was linear. I always knew where the line started and where it ended. My ego actually took her response to be something of a challenge, as if she was doubting that I was capable of accomplishing what I said I was going to do.

I attempted and failed at grad school. I can say it was because I took on too much, working two jobs and attempting school full time; but I know that would be a cop-out.

When a person chooses to go in to the field of social work, planning to have a career helping others who have suffered dysfunctional and sometimes traumatic experiences; she damn well better make sure she has her own shit dealt with and put away. I did not.

I was triggered severely while interning under a social worker in an elementary school. I didn’t even realize what happened, until the social worker (a woman I will never forget) told me she suspected I had PTSD and that it was ok to step back and take care of myself.

So that’s what I did. I withdrew from the MSW program. It hurt. I was somewhat lost at that point because all I had ever paid attention to was getting to a very specific place in life. I never bothered to look around and actually ask what else I liked, enjoyed or even wanted to do. I got stuck.

I got back in to therapy, continued to work, started my family and was making a name for myself, within the company I worked for at the time. Once I had my second child, I was derailed again. This time though, I was the one throwing up detour signs.

At this point, I had started to become more aware of what was really important in my life. Having kids had a way of putting my ego to rest, while igniting a greater love in me.

While on maternity leave for my second child, I kept feeling these little tugs on my heart. It was a pull to walk away from everything I had worked for up until that point and choose to stay home with my kids. It was radical and a bit of an obnoxious idea at the time. It wouldn’t go away though. So much so, that I eventually had to stop ignoring it.

Again, I couldn’t help but think, “How did I fall so far off course?”

Here I was, handing in my resignation, diving in to a world that even six months prior, I would have sworn would never be me. I was a SAHM, doing dishes and playing peek-a-boo in the middle of the day. Who am I?

I started to understand what that co-worker meant, five years prior. She was trying to kindly tell me, that I didn’t have to do any one thing. Life should and can be about what we want to do. I’ve had to let go of the reigns. Life never seemed to allow me to hold them tight enough to go in the direction I was “supposed” to go anyway.

I still revert back to tunnel vision occasionally. Now, though, I recognize it better. I can see and feel when I am unbalanced and need to just let go. I believe fiercely that I have to work for what I want; but the difference is now, I’m ok with not always knowing what that is. I’m taking more notes on life instead of worrying about the test. There really is no test.

My sister used to always say, “Throw away the map.” I finally understood what she was trying to tell me, when I stumbled upon this thought provoking quote, from a very unlikely source:

“As you start traveling down that road of life, remember this: There are never enough comfort stops. The places you’re going to are never on the map. And once you get that map out, you won’t be able to refold it no matter how smart you are. So forget the map, roll down the windows, and whenever you can, pull over and have a picnic with a pig. And if you can help it, never fly as cargo.” —Kermit the Frog

Those words are never too far from my heart. I try to “pull over” and have as many picnics with pigs as I can these days. I’m diverting my attention back to what’s right in front of me.

I have no idea where my life will take me. However, I do know, had I never failed at grad school, I never would have been so determined to work through my own childhood trauma. I would never have decided to become a SAHM; therefore, I never would have started writing.

Who knew Kermit was so wise?

Can you identify one event, moment or word(s) that changed your life. Do you feel like you have become a better person for being thrown off life’s course?

 

The Nostalgic Skin I’m In.

I realize my journey to “find myself” at 30-something is ripe ammo for a fabulous 40+ to roll her eyes and ask, “What the hell does she know?” I know this because now, when I am faced with a twentysomething, childless opinion, I’m usually discrediting most of it in my older and wiser, beautiful brain.

Vintage? Really? I still wear mine to bed.

It’s a strange point in life. “My” music is sometimes referred to as classics now by someone that may have never even bought a cd. A Gun’s N Roses t-shirt is considered vintage. My favorite childhood shows are in syndication on Nick at Night and Snoop Dogg is probably drinking more Metamucil than gin and juice these days.

I suppose I am a grown up because I am perfectly capable of driving while holding a mug full of hot coffee.

I now have a hidden box full of incriminating pictures from my teens and 20’s.  Just saying that I dropped film off somewhere definitely dates me.

I’m just grateful our crazy antics were captured on glossy paper and not online. No employer (or my kids) can pull up a face book video of me grinding on my girlfriends, throwing back shot number five and finishing it off with a Molly Shannon “Super Star” pose. I do have that picture but no, you will never see it.

I see high school kids now and they look like such babies. How can they possibly be drinking, experimenting with drugs and having sex!!!…Even though I definitely was at that age.

I realize that sleeping in is a double edge sword because the longer I lie, the more I ache when I get up.

I partied like it was 1999, when it was 1999.

There are now little people at our poker games. We have to whisper when we cuss and dole out snacks and parental disciplinary in between hands.

WTF is twerking? We called that droppin’ it like it’s hot, and actually looked hot doing it.

I have age spots on my forehead and my husband found a gray hair the day I decided to stay home with the kids. He sure thought that was funny.

Killing two 90’s birds with one stone.

I turn the radio off when I get in the car alone, instead of on these days. I just want to inhale the silence. Either that or I blare Eminem or some old school, raunchy music so I can get my white-girl rap on and shake my lady humps.

This past summer I was swinging with my daughter on her swing set and she told me to “Jump out Momma!” I laughed and told her, she was crazy, I may hurt myself. At what point do we see soaring out of a high-flying swing as a sure-fire way in to paying a high medical deductible, and not the greatest feeling in the world?

It’s become impossible to buy jeans. I can no longer pull off low riders but I’ll die before I am seen in Mom jeans holding up my belly button.

I searched the top music hits because I was looking for some new music and didn’t recognize probably 80% of the “artists”.  So, I just threw a 90’s mix station on to Pandora and found forgotten joy in Champagne SuperNova.

The now 20+ year old teenage mutant ninja turtles and cabbage patch kid dolls are striking a nostalgic nerve with me and my fellow parenting cohorts.  Although, as I walk down the toy aisle, I’m thinking, “When the hell did Barbie go Goth?” and “Why does a pack of garbage pail kids cards cost $4.99 now?”

It’s just all very strange to me.  I’m at a point where I’m starting to carve out a perspective; a life that reflects who I am at my core and the good parts of being alive and a part of this culture for the last 32 years.  At the same time, I’m responsible for mothering two beautifully un-jaded, little souls which in turn, is teaching me how little I actually know about life.

My threshold for dealing with others unwarranted crap has gone way down, and my ability to do whatever I want, despite what others may think, has gone way up.

Saying I am 30-somthing years old doesn’t feel weird. I don’t roll my eyes as if to imply being in my 30’s is a painful place to be.  It’s actually quite the opposite for me. I’m finally at a point where I live without as much angst.

My days are challenging at this point, both in raising my kids and raising myself. It’s exhilarating.

I have so much to look forward to at this point. However, I’ve lived long enough to have something important to say, and am finally at a point where I’m not afraid to say it.

The future feels mysterious and lovely. My past is finally feeling distant and less controlling. Time feels fleeting but appreciated. Life is mundane and simple, but moments feel grand.

My skin is thicker, my brain more powerful and my heart…my heart is vulnerably open. 30 (something) years in the making, and still a lot of work to do. But I’ve come to a place where I can appreciate who I am, where I come from and where I’m going.

This nostalgic skin I’m in…I wear it with pride. It’s me.

Unapologetically me.

Second First Impression.

I’m pretty psyched to say I’ve gained a few new readers over the past month and connected with some pretty awesome bloggy friends.  I’m sure it has something to do with throwing my guard down, realizing it’s ok to write what the hell it is I really want to write and some good old fashion practice at crafting my words.

Ain’t that the truth!

So I invite you to take a quick glimpse at my renovated “about” page I’ve linked below.  Maybe even check out one of my posts from the beginning that got lost in my Word Press ignorance.

First Impression..

Enjoy and thanks to those who helped me get my feet off the ground and my doubts out of my way.

 

On the Brink of 33 and Feeling Nostalgic.

I realize my journey to “find myself” at (almost) 33 is ripe ammo for a fabulous 40+ to roll her eyes and ask “What the hell does she know?”. I know this because now when I am faced with a twentysomething, childless opinion, I’m usually discrediting most of it in my “older and wiser” beautiful brain.

Vintage? I still wear mine to bed.

It’s a strange point in life. “My” music is sometimes referred to as classics now by someone that may have never even bought a cd. A Gun’s N Roses t-shirt is considered vintage. My favorite childhood shows are in syndication on Nick at Night  and Snoop Dogg is giving me directions on my GPS and probably drinking more Metamucil than gin and juice these days.

I suppose I am a grown up because I am perfectly capable of driving while holding a coffee mug full of hot coffee.

I now have a hidden box full of young, incriminating pictures from my teens and 20’s.  Just saying that I dropped film off somewhere definitely dates me. The fact that there was at a time when pictures of underage kids drinking, smoking and breaking laws in various other ways were developed and not so much as mentioned to parents or authorities, cracks me up. Some one should have told on our asses.

I’m just grateful our crazy antics were captured on glossy paper and not online. No employer (or my kids) can pull up a face book video of me grinding on my girlfriends, throwing back shot number five and finishing it off with a Molly Shannon “Super Star” pose.

I see high school kids now and they look like such babies. How can they possibly be drinking, doing drugs and having sex!!!…even though I definitely was at that age.

I realize that sleeping in is a double edge sword because the longer I lie, the more I ache when I get up.

I partied like it was 1999, when it was 1999.

There are now little people at our poker games and we have to whisper when we cuss and dole out snacks and parental disciplinary in between hands.

I shook my head at Miley Cyrus twerking. We called that droppin’ it like it’s hot and actually looked hot doing it.

I have age spots on my forehead and my husband found a gray hair the day I decided to stay home with the kids. He sure thought that was funny.

Killing two 90’s birds with one stone.

I turn the radio off when I get in the car alone, instead of on these days. I just want to inhale the silence. Either that or I blare Eminem or some old school, raunchy music so I can get my white-girl rap on and shake my lady humps.

This past summer I was swinging with my daughter on her swing set and she told me to “Jump out Momma!”. I laughed and told her, she was crazy, I may hurt myself. At what point do we see soaring out of a high flying swing as a sure-fire way in to a high medical deductible and not the greatest feeling in the world?

It’s become impossible to buy jeans. I can no longer pull off low riders but I’ll die before I am seen in Mom jeans holding up my belly button.

I searched the top music hits because I was looking for some new music and didn’t recognize probably 80% of the “artists”.  So, I just threw a 90’s mix station on to Pandora and found forgotten joy in hearing Champagne SuperNova.

How did this happen?

The now 20+ year old teenage mutant ninja turtles and cabbage patch kid dolls are striking a nostalgic nerve with me and my fellow parent cohorts.  Although, as I walk down the toy aisle, I’m thinking, “When the hell did Barbie go Goth?”  and “Why does a pack of garbage pail kids cards cost $4.99 now?”.

It’s just all very strange to me.  I’m at a point where I’m starting to carve out a perspective and a life that reflects who I am at my core and the good parts of being alive and a part of our culture for the last 32 years.  At the same time, I’m responsible for mothering two beautifully un-jaded, little souls.

My threshold for dealing with other people’s unwarranted crap has gone way down and my ability to do whatever I want, despite what others may think, has gone way up.

Saying I am soon-to-turn 33 years old doesn’t feel weird. I don’t roll my eyes as if to imply being in my 30’s is a painful place to be.  It’s actually quite the opposite for me. I’m finally at a point where I live without as much angst.

My days are challenging at this point, both in raising my kids and raising myself. I like it that way.

I have so much to look forward to at this point. However, I’ve lived long enough to have something important to say and am finally at a point where I’m not afraid to say it. It feels quite lovely on me.

 

Exposed.

Within the past five years, my life has changed quite drastically.  I’ve gotten married, gave birth to two beautiful babies, bought a house, started a career and put a career on hold to raise those babies.  On paper it sounds like all the “right” steps to happiness and fulfillment.  Well let me tell you…that is crap.  Not to say that I am not proud or happy to be where I am in my life right now because I am.  I know what it means to be grateful and I am.  But the truth is, somewhere along the way, I got lost.

I can tell you for sure what made me happy at 10, 18 and 25 but now I am really just not sure.  I could give the typical and truthful answers like my kids, new shoes, a good hair day but outside of objects and other people…I’m clueless.   I’m 32 years old and don’t fool myself in to thinking that I should have it all figured out yet but dammit making simple choices for myself shouldn’t be so hard! I drive myself crazy really.  My lack of confidence exhausts me.

I admit that I have no idea how I have made it this far.  I seem to have a lot of people fooled in regards to my own ability to function because I’ve heard myself described as “strong” and “independent” . I feel as though I CAN be those two things but as a whole I’m not.  I’m kind of  mess lately.  I crave to be alone but find it to be the most difficult place to be at the same time.  I think I surround myself with insightful music so I can steal the thought provoking lyrics of others and use them as my own. I constantly feel the need for validation of my own thoughts and actions and then get pissed off because I asked for it and didn’t get the answer or response I wanted.  So why ask, right?…I don’t know.

Don’t get me wrong, I am able to recognize that I’ve worked hard to get where I am in life.  The shit storm that was my childhood and the losses I’ve endured haven’t made it easy; however, I have no idea how I’ve made it this far.  I say that laughing because it truly baffles me.  I can and have professionally managed other’s lives so that they are more successful at literally living but can’t even make simple decisions when it comes to my own wants, needs and desires.

As an official 30 something, I have plenty of labels I can describe myself with i.e. Mother, wife, sister, friend….but no words that I feel comfortable using to introduce my true self.  I don’t think I am alone here; hence, the blog I am now sharing.  I think a lot of moms, wives, women can relate to feeling lost and frustrated.  I’ve been to therapy. I’ve taken anti-depressants.  I’ve read self help and discovery books.  I’ve had spa days.  I’ve tried fake it till you make it.  I’ve tried being the working mother.  I’ve tried being the stay at home mom.  I’ve tried so many things to put myself in a better place mentally and even though I’ve learned from each venture, none have calmed my nerves.

The one thing that I do know is that I always feel better when I’m putting thoughts on paper.  It’s like a validation of myself when I see it in print.  I don’t know why but I have a nagging in my head to constantly record my thoughts.  I’m a list girl.  They are everywhere in my house.  That also extends to journaling.  I’ve kept some form of a journal since I was about 7 years old.  So recently when I asked myself (for the gazillionth time) “what is it that I enjoy doing”…I finally realized I had been doing it all along.  I just never realized it.

It’s incredibly frustrating that what I have been doing since I was a very young girl has eluded me as a way to move forward with my own thoughts, past the bullshit baggage I seem to always carry with me and through the current anxiety about life I’m having.

So…here I am.  Maybe yelling from the world wide roof top will make me vulnerable enough to let go and enjoy the ride.  I have so much to say and quite honestly can’t wait to really get started.  Hopefully along the way I strike a nerve for a few others.  So my plan is this…be brutally honest.  About everything…past, present and future.  And hopefully, this purging of self reflections and thoughts about the goings on in my crazy head and crazy life will help soothe my soul and connect to others that are at a similar place in their own lives.