I'm reflecting on something my dear friend Jamie said recently. She commented on my last post, saying how much she enjoyed reading it. "It's so real," she said with a huge smile on her face. I do want to talk about Jamie's smile for a moment. I know she doesn't realize this, but she has a beautiful smile. There is a light within her that illuminates everything and everyone around her when she lets it shine. Her smile is infectious. It is warm. It is comfort. It is beautiful.
The words she chose - it's so real - were a huge compliment to me, though I wondered really what they meant. I started this blog after my dad passed as a form of therapy. I have always found comfort in the written word and often it is the way I choose to communicate. Not because I am afraid to talk, but because when I write I can process my thoughts so my words say exactly what I mean them to say -- good or bad. Sometimes when we speak we don't get it all out. Likewise, we don't always chew on words before we spit them out. Anyone that knows me well, who is part of my inner circle, has been subjected to my written word - an email, a text, a card, or a note, more than once. My words at times are eloquent and beautiful. Other times they are caustic and they bite. Either way, rest assured, I am fully conscious of the message they are sending. That's what being real is to me...getting it all out, nothing hidden, no pretenses, presenting myself exactly as I am, flaws and all, and just saying to the universe, this is me. I am neurotic. I am insecure but also confident. I make mistakes. I try hard. I love hard. I hate hate - in any form. I laugh. I cry. I've been through some ish'. But I'm still standing. My journey continues. God is not done with me yet.
It took a very long time for me to do the self reflection that is so necessary to nurturing one's soul. As a "tween" I was very awkward and very shy. I spoke softly...so softly that my dad used to encourage me, very sternly, to speak up. "Don't you ever get sick of people saying what to you?" he would ask. That shyness stuck with me all the way through my 20's. Not that it showed. I somehow managed to be a social teenager despite the awkwardness I felt on the inside. I connected well with all kinds of kids - the shy and quiet ones; the bookworms; the jocks; those that partied a lot; the popular and the unpopular; and I was able to adapt my behavior to whatever group I was with at the time. There seemed to be something about the vulnerability that made all of the "clicks" simply adopt me. Thus, I was never not surrounded by friends. I enjoyed all of the things a typical teenage girl enjoys - proms, parties, breaking curfew, and riding in cars with boys (and even a motorcycle now and then). But despite the seeming popularity, internally I was a mess. I was not comfortable in my own skin. I looked in the mirror and didn't like what I saw. I hated my body. I did not think I was "pretty." I wanted to be like the pretty girls - which of course meant skinny. But I would never be skinny, so imagine how empowering it is, at this stage of my life, to have the accepted standard of beauty embrace all body types. Yes indeed, fat bottom girls do make the rockin' world go round!
Adulthood is not easy, and each of us comes to it at a different time and different place. I see some 40 somethings that run around like they are 25. And I see some 25 year olds that you would swear are 40. As I sit and watch my own son grow in to adulthood, I see so much of myself in him. My son is kind, quiet, polite, a very hard worker, and a wonderful son. He is shy...so very shy...and he struggles with verbal communication, especially when really pushed to speak up. He is trying to find his way in this world and I want to reassure him that it will be all right. Don't get me wrong..he is doing really terrific! He has his own apartment, a brand new (or nearly brand new) car, a great job with a salary that took me almost 20 years to earn, and he gets to enjoy just about anything he wants to. But there is something about being out on your own that is a learning experience every day. Like when he went to the dentist for the first time on his own health insurance and realized his dentist...the one he's had since childhood...doesn't take his insurance and thus he had to pay out of pocket. Like car repairs are costly. Like living in an apartment in a building that belongs to someone else, even if it is your father, means that you can't really do anything you want to do because the landlord has the final say. Like paying bills and being grown up is really great...but stinks at the same time.
I sheltered my son...and for the record, I don't think that's a bad thing. I know we live in a world where the term helicopter mom is thrown about and has negative connotations. I don't know if I was necessarily a helicopter mom though I know I was, and continue to be, a protective one. My parents were not helicopter parents yet they were, and continue to be, protective ones. They gave me enough room to grow, yet somehow always knew what was going on in my life even if I didn't spill it to them. Their home was, and continues to be, a safe haven for me. Not that I've needed it...for all intents and purposes, I've lived on my own since I was 18 years old. But I do remember several years ago when I was struggling financially. I mentioned to my dad, in a joking kind of way, that I might have to move back home with him. Without hesitation, without batting an eye, and almost instantaneous, his response was "if you need to, that'd be fine dear." My dad always called me dear. He wasn't a man that was openly demonstrative all the time. But there was something so warm about the way he used that term with me. Yes, me, my son, my two cats (no Coco at the time), and all my "stuff" would always be welcome at my dad's. And what a tremendous comfort that was to me. I know I've had this conversation with my son as he learns to live independently. I do often wonder if I did him a disservice by being so protective of him. But then I see the man that he is and I am so proud of him. He doesn't drink or do drugs. He never went to parties or hung on the streets. He goes to work every day...no matter how tired he may be. He is kind to children, animals, seniors and everyone he meets. He is respectful. And the conversations we have now about all kinds of things, even limits, make me realize that I did ok, although I wasn't the June Cleaver mom that we all think we should be. I tried. And I am pretty sure he knows that. And I'm pretty sure he thinks I'm a good mom. I am the parent he turns to when he wants to talk; when he needs something; when he sees something funny and just wants to share it; when he wants to do something and suggests the idea for "us," ...and all these things make me so very happy.
The last couple of years have been a transitional time for me. I work hard. Very hard. I keep crazy hours and I am on call around the clock. That's the availability I've fostered over the years and for a while I was perfectly fine with it. What strikes me is that I'm not really fine with it any longer. That doesn't mean I don't love my job and care so much for the people we serve, because I do. I am passionate about my cause. No one would question that. But when you are sitting vigil by your father's bedside because he is passing, and your cell phone continues to ring and the text notification continues to go off despite the fact that everyone knows where you are and why, you do realize that you've fostered the wrong kind of importance in your life. And thus I set out to change. And let me tell you something...change is not easy.
It's funny how people react to you when you are going through change. Some support you. These are the ones that you know are true. They are completely ok with you improving the quality of your life and root for you. Encourage you to stay on track. Others try to keep you in the place you've been. That's how you know who is real in your life and who isn't. Yes, change has been an eye opening experience for me. But it's also brought me a newfound awareness of the chains that I've placed myself under. It feels good to break them. No, what I mean is that it feels good to be breaking them. I'm learning to set boundaries. I'm finally letting go of things that don't feed my soul. I'm opening myself up to new experiences. I'm listening to the universe. At the same time, I'm learning to forgive myself. I've made mistakes. A lot of them. Who hasn't? The thing about mistakes, I think, is that you keep repeating them until you are ready for the change. There's a quote...something like "change occurs when the change of pain is less than the pain of remaining the same." That's where I'm at. Change is finally less painful for me than the pain of staying the same.
I've enjoyed the changing process. Setting boundaries is empowering. Coming in to your own is empowering. Getting up after you've been knocked down is empowering. Lifting others up - even those that have tried to keep you down - is empowering. This period of my life is one that I feel good about. I want to experience new things. I want to have down time and enjoy it. I want to be around people that are positive influences. I want to be around people that see me - really see me - and like what they see. Not physically. Intellectually and spiritually. I want deeper connections and this is what I want to give. And I don't just mean with intimate partners. I also mean with family and friends. And yes, with a partner, on an intimate level, I want true intimacy. Not just amazing off the chain sex. I want to feed my soul. I want something real...because that's what I want to give. I know in order to have that, I have to be willing to be completely naked. I have to let any would be suitor know that I am neurotic. I am insecure but also confident. I make mistakes. I try hard. I love hard. I hate hate - in any form. I laugh. I cry. I've been through some ish'. But I'm still standing. My journey continues. God is not done with me yet.
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