finding it

this month has been a challenge. it's taken me a while to figure out why.

i thought i had this whole empty nester thing down.

i mean, what is there to figure out?

it's literally *just* me, alone in my apartment.

really, what is there to figure out?

turns out, more than you think. and i think a LOT.

there's a few things that all form a perfect storm: stress, depression, LOTS of quiet time, personality type, financial status, and biggest road block, my own brain.

i talk to myself constantly, not out loud, but my brain always has a dialogue running. ALWAYS. i talk over things a thousand times in my head, to the point, where _I'M_ exhausted of hearing myself talk about them. and then i think: WRITE IT DOWN. GET IT OUT.

but i've heard it SO MUCH in my head i think, i must have already annoyed the crap out of everyone else from making them hear about this too! when in reality it's never been anywhere but my head.

i have a very small group of people i text message or snap chat about things, and that by no means is EVERYONE. and i fully acknowledge that none of my people have ever said: YOU ALREADY SAID THAT. i think because most of them understand: if i have to say it again, there's something that still not worked out yet.

this is all a really long way to say i'm still really struggling.

i thought moving would be easy. i'd get all settled in, start a new routine, things would just take off and it would be great.


then one night i realized it took me almost 30 minutes to convince myself that yes, stella really did need to go out one more time before bed. she's a puppy. she can't just get up in the middle of the night and go potty.

well...she CAN...but do i want to wake up to a puddle in the middle of one of my carpets?

when you're annoyed that your BULLDOG has more energy than you? when you have to talk yourself up to taking her out to potty? maybe it's time to really, really evaluate what's going on.

here's the evaluation:

my maslow's heriarchy is truly fucked up.

in the last 6 months my whole pyramid has crumbled or shifted or both.

i mention maslow all the time, but if you're not familiar with the pyramid, here it is

when you look at that chart, EVERY. SINGLE. SLICE. of that pyramid is a work-in-progress right now for me. bottom to the top, ESPECIALLY the top.

that's a lot to deal with.one or two is considered a big change in life. ALL THE PIECES? i don't even know. it's a fucking shit show.

physiological needs: moving was expensive. double rent for a few months, old electric bills AND new electric bills, annoying little costs at the new place- the little costs that sneak up on you. "oh, it's only $40 for a wall mount for the tv" and "oh, it's just a few dollars at home depot for command hooks" and "i'll just pop over to the general store real quick to pick up a an outlet adapter. and an extension cord. and a wall hook for the bathroom..." and "oooo, that's really cute, i can get a FEW new things to decorate my living room..."

this all trickles downstream to my regular bills- and then things get tight all over because i wasn't paying attention, which is 100% my own fault. then it's the fun game of $5 til payday and "how many ways can i make rice (if i don't burn it, yes, that's an issue i have.)" and with food insecurity comes break down in body and health and mental clarity.

which leads to the second slice- work is...challenging right now. i'm struggling with ethics and how much to let personal beliefs affect work at my morning job. my afternoon has been dropping hours left and right- take, for example the recent 3 day weekend: everyone is getting an early start on the 3-day weekend, not unheard of. i left early on the thursday before because i was out of things to do, and monday was a non-paid holiday (part time worker). that works out to my paycheck missing three days. when money is already tight? fuuuuuck.

when you wake up every morning already dreading the day it makes for a really long fucking day.

but why stop there? shall we keep climbing the ladder? let's wade deeper into the shit swamp shall we?

love and belonging? esteem? self actualization? lord love a duck. that's been the majority of my life trying to get those pieces sorted and stabilized.

i have been spending so much energy and time processing trauma, history, life experiences, decisions, future plans. i have spent nights YELLING at the universe in frustration. plenty of tears. a few sarcastic laughs in there.

i'm trying so hard to let go of old things to make room for new things. it's fucking hard. some of those old thoughts have been in my head for what feels like forever.

when's the first time you remember hating yourself?

i remember getting the "most improved" award for swim team when i was...maybe 11? was i excited that i won? nope. i was embarrassed. i knew in my heart they only gave it to the new kid on the team. sure i'm "most improved" when i didn't have a time at the beginning of the season, any finishing time is an improvement. that's really what i thought. hell. that's what i still think. sure, i loved swimming. i have my first water certification for swimming from when i was 2 somewhere in a box in my house. i was swimming before i could walk. i LOVE the water. always have. but was i "most improved" swimmer? no. of course not.

I WAS ELEVEN. if that. that's how far back it goes.

when you've been hearing the voice of hate longer than you haven't? when you remember hearing it before anything else? that's a freight train that's really hard to stop and turn around.

but fuck if i'm not working on it.

i know my pyramid is all fucked up. i'm working so hard on it.

i've been going on job interviews to try to find a better/healthier place to work. it's exhausting going on interview after interview and not getting ANY call backs, even to tell me FUCK NO WE DON'T WANT YOU. the closest i've had to an official notification/rejection is "if we haven't called you by 5 on friday we picked someone else." BEFORE I EVEN LEFT THE INTERVIEW. 

but it's hard. i have bills to pay. i have mostly stable income now, i can't just jump without something else to land on. i need to survive. but fuck do i need a change. it's really hard going to work every day for someone that would exterminate you given the opportunity. that really fucks with your head.

but i'm not giving up.

and i'm working so hard on self confidence and self love. maybe a little too much. the other night i went out for whisky wednesday, as per usual. there's another gal there that's a regular. way more of a regular than me. she knows everyone, she's one of THE people there. and she's never particularly cared for me. i've tried to have little conversations with her here and there to no avail.

this week i noticed she was having a really rough night. i leaned over across the empty stool between us and asked if she was ok. I KNOW. good damn do I KNOW. I KNOW, I KNOW the look on her face when i asked. it was the OF COURSE I'M NOT OK BUT DON'T BE NICE TO ME I'LL CRY look. oh how familiar i am with that look. and i know the LAST thing you want is some stranger poking in your business when that happens. so i just said, "GIRL, i see you." that's it. just letting her know someone noticed. someone cares. someone knows you exist.

a while later i could feel her energy shift a little and she started talking to me a bit here and there. turns out she hates me. well, like, girl hates me. i mentioned something about my little cooper and she was like OF COURSE that's your car. just when i thought i couldn't be any more jealous of you, i realized that was YOUR car.

HOLD.

UP.

wait. what? girl, you're jealous of ME?????

oh honey.

i mean THANK YOU. but no. but what? but no. oh honey no.

and she was like, OF COURSE i'm jealous of you. you always show up here looking all glam and together and then OF COURSE that's your car.

and OH MY GOD. it's working. people think i have my shit together. jfc the fake it part really does work.

all the hard work. it's paying off. i work SO HARD to look put together all the time. i'm so careful about my skin and my hair and my make up and my clothes. i work SO. HARD. to look like a real grown up adult. SO HARD. and i have to MAKE MYSELF go out for whisky wednesdays. i start talking myself into in on sundays. yeah. sunday.

i spend half my week talking myself into going out then the other half of my week trying to convince myself i wasn't awkward when i DID go out. it's super fun being in my head.

but maybe it's finally working?

but good heavens and shit on a shingle, don't be jealous of me girl.

and so we started talking. for a brief second it was almost a contest of who's shit pile is bigger but i just kept saying SEE GIRL. we all have our shit. and she was like no, you don't understand. THIS HORRIBLE THING. and i would answer with my own HORRIBLE THING. and then she would say but no, THIS HORRIBLE THING. yeah girl. i have a catalog of those too. BUT WAIT! oh, yeah, honey, i got the sham-wow shit deal too. call now and we'll throw in double the bullshit and emotional baggage!

GIRL. I GOT YOU. i get it. oh lord do i get it. and slowly we just started to talk.

and maybe i am figuring it out. maybe i am starting to be the person i'm working so hard to be.

i've been doing fairly well the last few weeks. when i went to refill my vitamins there was only one day left in the container. i've been doing food prep and actually taking the meals i make. i've been sleeping better and making healthier life choices.

i'm leaning in to all the "weird" parts of me that i've always know were there but didn't know what to do with (my first tarot card deck is on it's way!). i've always been painfully honest with people, but now i'm not hiding the parts i'm uncomfortable being honest about. because is it really honesty when it's just carefully curated and selected pieces? i'm BEING ME. i'm still finding out what that really is, but i'm working on it.

all the clothes in my closet? I'M WEARING THEM. this week alone i cut the tags off 5 things that have been hiding on hangers for YEARS that i was too scared to wear. and guess what: I LOVE THEM. there's a reason i bought them. GIRL. PUT THE DAMN CLOTHES ON YOUR BODY. that's been my mantra this week. JUST PUT THE DAMN CLOTHES ON YOUR BODY. 

i'm rebuilding my damn pyramid and you bet your ass this time around it is going to be a brick. house.

i'm working on it. i'm finding it.

but dear lord don't be jealous of me.

scratch the surface

i've been doing a LOT of processing and working through things lately.

i've been digging deep into my past, why things are the way they are, why i am the way i am. i'm finally resolving (or working on) trauma and weird shit from the last 37 (fuck, almost 38) years on this planet.

i've delved really fucking deep into recurring nightmares, grief, choices, all the different paths life has taken.

i've gone DEEP y'all.

and it's been (mostly) good and healing. 

but, oddly, it's the super shallow stuff that's made a really big difference for me.

because people are shallow y'all.

and i mean this in the best way possible.

see, i've been single for basically my entire life. i've dated here and there. i was married for a whopping 23 months. most "relationships" don't make it past the 2 month mark. i've been on countless horrible first dates. i've been on plenty "meh" first dates. i've been stood up for an embarrassing number of never-happened dates.

and i took it all so, incredibly, painfully personal.

every rejection, every ghost, every failed attempt it was because of ME. like, ME. the deep me.

i don't have success dating because I'M A TERRIBLE PERSON. my very core self if like if every serial killer and political dictator and perpetrator of ethnic cleansing and generally horrible person on earth merged into one horrible, disgusting, repulsive, intolerable sample of humanity packaged into a chubby brunette body.

imagine packing this image of yourself around year after year.

except...

maybe not?

because here's the thing. most of those people never even got to know me beyond a few text messages and phone calls.

hell, most of them didn't even bother to show up to try to get to know me.

so...maybe people are just shallow.

ya think?

maybe people didn't like me because i'm brunette instead of blonde. cool. i have been blonde(ish), red, blue, pink, purple, black, and for a very short time, a horrid forest green after an attempt at color correction went very wrong.

maybe people don't like me because i'm fat. i've been heavier. i've been lighter. ive been a bigger size, i've been a smaller size. in high school i weighed 140 and had a 28" waist. now i'm almost 40 and have a 28" thigh.

maybe people don't like me because i have kids. i'm hesitant myself to date other people with kids because it's a HUGE responsibility to be in a child's life, for a short time or a long time. even a one time memory can have a lasting effect.

maybe people don't like me because i have tattoos and piercings.

maybe people don't like me because i pronounce words wrong/different.

maybe people don't like my views on politics or religion or which grocery store is the best.

maybe people don't like me because i still own dvd's and refuse to make a digital library. I LIKE THE ACTUAL DVD'S. LEAVE ME ALONE.

maybe it's because i don't like the right music.
 
maybe i talk too much about weird topics (how many people do you know with a book of drawings done by a guard at the gulag?).

maybe it's because i like pineapple on pizza.

maybe it's because they found someone else they have a better connection with.

maybe it's because no one is required to like everyone else on the planet.

maybe i have man hands and don't own a pirate blouse and those are the only two Seinfeld references i know. 

not every rejection is a meat cleaver to the chest. sometimes it's a papercut on your pinkie. sometimes it doesn't even leave a scratch.

people are shallow ya'll.

and that's actually a good thing.

it means maybe i can give myself a break. maybe i'm not actually a terrible monster of a person. i'm just a weird little duck. even weird little ducks can have a great life. 

not everyone hates me as much as i hate myself.

which is actually helping me hate myself less.

funny thing how less hate leads to less hate.


but you know, all those shallow people? it's a time saver. if they think i'm not a match because i don't eat anything purple? how the fuck are they going to handle me when i'm in full PMS rage ranting about who keeps putting the milk back in the fridge on the wrong damn shelf?

sure, it would have been nice if a few had stuck around a little longer.

there's a lot of things that would be nice if they happened.

accidentally becoming uuber famous with endless money to help people out and travel with friends, but without any of the paparazzi or internet trolls? that would be SUPER nice if it happened.

but in the mean time, i'll take a little shallowness and a whole lot less self hate.

that seems like a pretty damn good place to start.

i'm positive i'm not positive.

the body positive moment happening everywhere right now is an amazing thing. women are learning to love themselves, no matter what shape, size, hair color, length, style, ANY of the stuff that goes into learning to love yourself.

there's the "take back the beach" movement emphasizing that any body you put a bikini on IS a bikini body.

there's beautiful models across the nation proving you don't have to be a size 00 to walk a runway or being on the cover of sports illustrated swim suit edition or be a national clothing line spokesperson.

more and more women are getting over their insecurities and being the example for a new generation of women.

and that is AMAZING.

but...

there's still crazy people out roaming around, like me.

and the only thing the body-positive movement has done is made me hate myself more.

here's the recording in my head:

LOOK AT ALL THE WOMEN LEARNING TO LOVE THEMSELVES. WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU THAT YOU CAN'T DO THAT?

all these women are all learning to love their "flaws"

 

 

 

nayyirah waheed, salt

and i'm over here just finding more things to hate about myself. like the fact that i haven't learned to love myself.

it's a particularly ridiculous hate spiral and i'm well aware of it, but my brain can't "just stop."

that's what i hear from well-intentioned people the most: just love yourself. just stop your brain. just ignore the negative voice in your head.

trust. if i could *just* anything, i would. but my brain doesn't work that way. i have this endless pro-con list running in my head in addition to a relentless sense of fact-based reasoning that together are worse than any super villian you could ever imagine.

for every one positive i try to say about myself in the mirror in the morning there are instantly 3 *actually* comments that push it out of the way.

me: oh wow, my hair looks great today!

also me: *actually* there are a bunch of frizzy fly-aways that make you look sloppy. and *actually* that one piece is curling weird like it's TRYING to point directly at the acne on your jawline. and *actually* that root color is too dark for you and makes your fat face look fatter.


me: i'm bold. i'm brave. i'm going to wear red lipstick today!

*side note: kat von d outlaw is KILLER if you're looking for a red. end commercial*

also me: *actually* you shouldn't be wearing red. you're too pale to pull it off. and *actually* you don't even own a lip liner, so  you shouldn't be wearing lipstick with out a liner. and *actually* you always put it on crooked and it comes off on your coffee up so you look like a hot mess all the time.  WHY DO YOU EVEN OWN THAT SHADE OF RED ANYWAY?

me: i *adore* this new dress! i'm going to wear it to work today.

also me: *actually* your legs are stupidly pale and stand out when you wear dresses. and *actually* you didn't shave your legs last night because you're too lazy and EVERYONE will notice. and *actually* that dress makes your back fat look terrible and you shouldn't wear it.

it's like i live with the worlds most obnoxious, entitled, waspy asshole ALL THE TIME.

i don't worry (much) about what people will *actually* say to me (spoiler alert: no one cares OR ever says anything) because the voices in my head are ALWAYS 1000X worse than what anyone could ever think to say to me. unless they're agreeing with me. which is pretty mean. because i'm pretty mean.

BUT, back to the point. the body positive moment happening is killing me.

what's so wrong with me that i'm the one female out here not learning or already intrinsically knowing how to love myself? why haven't i been able to find a way to turn off the negative recordings yet?

it feels like i'm the last person left that doesn't believe a bikini body is any body you just put a bikini on. WHAT ABOUT THE CYSTS ON MY THIGHS? no one wants to see those!

and i'm still working on it. i'm making myself wear the red lipstick even if i feel like and idiot. i'm making myself wear the dress because it is adorable and deserves to be worn, even if i'm not the right person to do it. i haven't shaved my head...again anyway. the grow out is a bitch. trust me on that.

i'm still trying. there are some days i'm almost convinced that i can at least live in a grey middle zone where i may not love myself, but at least i don't actively hate myself...for a bit at least. and there are some great strains of weed that can convince me i'm a goddess and look AMAZING and give me the most empowering self confidence to wear things or dance in my kitchen or dress up...but unfortunately they wear off after 20 minutes. but damn those 20 minutes are fun.

still looking. haven't found it yet.

christopher robin believed in his crew. his neurotic, depressed, hyperactive, pessimistic, bumbling crew. unfailingly.

i have the knock off version of this quote in my room, of course on an adorable decorative wooden box on a side table next to a salt lamp and another decorative wooden box with another particularly cliche quote. it's a very stereotypical mid-30's single white girl bedroom. bitches love their salt lamps. *correction: bitches love their pink himalayan ionized positive energy infusing salt lamps*

the knock off version of the quote changes it the required trademark 10% to read: i'm stronger than i seem, braver than i believe, smarter than i think.

as different as night and later that same night.

i bought it on a whim a few years ago hoping that maybe seeing the words every day i could convince myself of their message.

same theory with the tattoo on my collarbone that says: love yourself (literally IN MY SKIN but i still haven't been able to achieve that one quite yet either).

now most days i feel vagueishly smart. especially when creating my own words like vagueishly. IT IS TOO A WORD SPELLCHECK. i just used it in a sentence twice. fuck off.

but most days i do feel a little smart. sometimes i even see my bachelors degree in it's frame (of course placed right behind the decorative quote box) and *almost* convince myself that it's a real degree. that i actually had to EARN it. i mean- it's a literature degree. not like, you know, a rocket surgery degree or anything. i just had to read a bunch of books and write a bunch of papers. i've been doing that my whole life. but, i guess, since the college gave it to me, maybe i actually earned it.

yes, you read that right. there is a not-insignificant portion of time i'm convinced that a college just, like, gave me a degree because i paid all my tuition, didn't have to repeat any classes, and finished all 4 years.

but at least most days, degree smart or not, i at least feel some version of smart.

bravery- that one is a bit of a joke. i'm not brave. i mean, my dad and my brother are brave. 4 generations of cops in my family tree. they literally run at danger, all the time. they're brave. i have friends that travel all across the country, all the time, even as crazy as the world is right now. friends that have literally flown into war zones. i know people that fight illness, massive life devastation, they take on impossible tasks and jobs with no idea what the outcome may be. i know EMT's and firefighters that every. single. shift. is a test of their mettle. 

what do i do? paperwork. read books. make sure the teenager has food and long sleeved shirts. no wait...hoodies.  no wait, flannel long sleeve shirts with a hoodie. NO WAIT... (can you guess what the conversation at our house has been this week?)

i've maybe had moments of bravery. leaving my marriage was scary, but i did that. and i've sat in the ER with the kid without losing my shit. i guess that was...maybe not brave, but at least not a hot mess?

i'm sure there's another example. 

and strength. ha. strength. i really like to pretend i'm strong but my family always treated me with kidd gloves.

in the 90's my dad wrecked his patrol car. he hit a patch of black ice and it threw his car off the road. the glove box was found 50 yards from the car. he had a broken collarbone, a few broken ribs, a punctured lung. i wasn't told about it until after he was out of the hospital.

same thing with my brother- he wrecked his bike, had to have a craniotomy and be placed in a medically induced coma for two weeks. i found out after he was out of the coma and moved to ICU.

when my dad died they waited several hours then called my mom and had her come tell me in person.

they all insisted that i wouldn't have been able to handle the news any other way. they "didn't know how i would react," so they tried to keep it from me as long as they could. i've never really thought of myself as a delicate flower, but you know, they must know something i don't. maybe they remember something from my childhood. maybe i reacted to things badly then. i've blacked out a significant portion of everything before 17, so i really don't know. maybe they're assholes, maybe they know something i don't.

the point of all this endless self depreciation?

i'm like- i don't even know the words. i'm at this place. it's not the swamp of sadness. it's not even the pit of despair. it's like...the chilean mine shaft of failure.

i've been applying for jobs here and there, been on a few interviews, looking without LOOKING. i'm putting off an intense job search, but at the same time, the ones i have applied for haven't worked out, so, is *actually* looking going to go any better?

i have so little bravery, so little strength, so little faith in myself that i talk myself out of jobs before i even hit the apply button.

school tutor? i can't fucking do that. yeah, i have a college degree, but that's not what i WENT to college for. i mean, they probably want people that took education classes, not just english classes.

barista? i mean, yeah, i learned to make coffee and i love it. but i couldn't actually like WORK at a shop with rush hours and cranky customers. and i mean, i never really fully learned how to take down a machine. i'm sure there's MUCH more qualified people out there.

a part time office assistant? i can't do that. i'm sure their office isn't at all like all the others i've worked in. it's probably like, way busier and harder than any of the places. i'll fall behind and make a mess of things and not be able to figure out their systems.

THAT'S RIGHT. I CAN TALK MYSELF OUT OF A JOB I'VE BEEN DOING FOR 20 YEARS.

i have friends that believe in me and encourage me ALL THE TIME. i wish like fuck i could catch a sliver of a glimpse of what they see.

and i'm scared ALL. THE. TIME. lately.

i would love to start my own business but before i can even get the full concept of the business written down i've already started a list of 101 ways it will fail.

i would love to push myself to actually publish but i already have myself convinced that it's a waste of everyone's time to put together a book no one will read.

i just. i don't love myself like my shoulder says. i'm not stronger than i seem. i'm not braver than i believe. i'm not smarter than i think.

i want to be. i wish i could find that path for myself. i'm still looking. but i haven't found it yet.

i want to learn how to be my own christopher robin.

leave it to beaver

what do you do when you have a traditionalist mindset with non-traditionalist circumstances?

for a kid who didn't watch tv much growing up, i have a very firmly implanted idealistic trope of what a "typical family home" is supposed to be.

i never watched leave it to beaver but i'm oh so familiar with the cookie cutter: mom, dad, boys, charming rancher on a quiet street, general shenannigans and tom-foolery ensue.

when i watch those types of shows one thing always stands out: how DONE everything is. the yard is landscaped. the living room furniture is a matching set. the house is all set up and DONE.

WHILE THEY'RE STILL RAISING YOUNG KIDS.

HOW?

i remember my dad telling me, YEARS ago, that setting up a house takes time. no one moves into their first apartment all ready to go. you start out with milk crates and assemble-it-yourself-furniture. over time you slowly replace the milk crates with a kitchen table and chairs. the press board furniture slowly becomes pieces that arrived in once piece- REAL furniture. you slowly hand down the hand me downs and get your own BRAND NEW couch (or several if you have furniture a.d.d. like me). 

THAT part i expected. but for some reason with my house it's different- i expect it to be finished. NOW. and i get endlessly frustrated at waiting to be able to afford different things.

what do you mean i have to PLAN to put in carpet? HOW MUCH is redoing the upstairs bathroom going to be? why can't i just PUT IN sprinklers? how much longer before the front deck actually falls apart before just threatening?

i feel embarrassed to have people over and i'm endlessly apologizing for the half finished state of things.

watch out for the back deck, it needs redone so there's not such big gaps.

sorry about the living room floor- best to keep your shoes on so you don't get a sliver.

oh, when you take a shower downstairs the hot is cold and the cold is hot.

when you lock the garage door you have to close it then push it back a little because it's leaning and not lined up right.

i know people say that when you're done with ALL your house projects it's time to move. and i know that as soon as you get the sink fixed the dishwasher goes on the fritz. OH, and the washing machine is leaking. OH, and the outlet upstairs quit working. OH, and the roof is at the end of life. OH, and the hot water heater needs replaced...

I GET IT.

i was up on the south hill this weekend, the "rich" section of town. there's BEAUTIFUL homes all owned by people my parents age. AND THEY WERE OUTSIDE WORKING ON PROJECTS.

so, what's my issue? why do i put so much pressure on myself to have everything done, barely 5 years after moving in, when people who have been in their home for 20+ years still have projects they're working on?

when am i going to learn to cut myself a little slack?

even growing up- it wasn't constant, but there were always projects being budgeted and waited on. the crappy sidewalk took several years to get around to replacing. at one point my mum ripped out all the flower beds and put in white rock. we built a storage shed in the back yard. re-tiled the bathroom shower. built a coat closet in the living room. added cabinets to the kitchen and cut in a dishwasher. redid some carpet/removed some carpet. switched from a pellet stove to a gas fire place. replaced washers and dryers. my own home growing up was never "finished."

in leave it to beaver or the brady bunch the kids are young and everything is already done. my mom bought her house when i was 9.

hell, even "newer" shows (showing my age now) like tool time or family matters or full house- the kids were all young but the house was already DONE. they already had the grown up furniture. they already had the fully equipped garage. all the pictures on the wall. the big back yard with a swing set and beautiful green grass.

and for some reason i think mine has to be.

i know i'm not a double parent household. i KNOW i'm not a double income household. i know that things take time and planning and budgeting. i now a complete bathroom remodel takes time. i know that installing carpet isn't cheap. i know that landscaping takes YEARS for the plants and the grass to fill in the way you want it to. i know that. I KNOW ALL THAT.

but i still struggle.

i often wonder when i'm going to be the gown up that i grew up with. 

when am i going to be able to take everyone out to a big family dinner? (uh, duh, your kids don't even have spouses yet, calm your tits.) when am i going to be the nice house on the block? when am i going to be the destination house with the big summer bbq's and people stopping by all the time?

and then i take a moment and LOOK at ward and june cleaver. look at mike and carol brady. tim and jill taylor.

they are not 35 with an 18 year old.

i started EARLY. i didn't have my 20's in college figuring things out and getting my shit together. i had my 20's with kids and making it up as i went.

maybe if i had waited until 27 or 30 to start having kid i would already have a house lined out and sorted. i would already have bought the furniture instead of diapers. i could have spent time landscaping instead of driving to practices and friends houses and school events.

don't get me wrong. NEITHER WAY IS WRONG.

i personally think waiting til you're older and more established to have kids is much, much smarter, but then i look at it and i woudn't have the energy now to keep up with them...maybe that's because they sucked out all my 20's energy. ha. six one way, half a dozen the other.

end of the day, second verse, same as the first: i just need to quit judging myself so harshly. give my self room to breathe and BE. i'm not *supposed* to be anything. i'm not supposed to have the perfect house. i'm not supposed to have the perfect decorating. i'm not supposed to have the perfect lawn. i can work towards those things. i can allow myself space and time and not feel like a failure for being perfectly normal. body, house, kids, whatever, i really need to learn to chill the fuck out and let myself just BE.

who the fuck am i?

i'm having a medium to large identy crisis as of late.

i have these certain ideas in my head of what things are in relation to what they look like-

you know,

stereotypes.

you know what i mean? the hollywood casting sheet versions of people?

moms of teenager: middle aged, frumpy and tired with a boring neglected haircut and personal care routine.

moms of sports kid: sweater sets, khaki capris, mini-van full of sports gear and snack packs.

single mom: frazzled hot messes in yoga pants or painted up baby-daddy hunter.

country music fan: sleeveless tee shirt (or flannel shirts), home make jean shorts, dirty lifted 1980's rust bucket truck with rebel flag proudly displayed.

office manager: lumpy, middle aged, permed bowl cut, bargain discount suit, sad cat lady.

people with visible tattoos: bad ass artistic types or a member of a biker gang.

writer: obscure reference quoting, deeply intellectual, jacket with elbow patches, sipping camomile tea, glasses.

i am all of these, but i am none of these.

i don't know who or what the fuck i am.

how the fuck would hollywood cast me in a lifetime original movie?

i'm not a path forger. i'm not a trend setter. i'm not cutting edge ANYTHING.

maybe it's not so much an identity crisis it's more of a perception and acceptance crisis.

while sitting around the house this weekend like a slob, binge watching netflix parked on the couch after the kiddo headed to summer camp i started to wonder about what some of the other youth group kids have been saying to him, about how they perceive me and our home life.

he's been told a few times that he's living in an "unsafe and unhealthy household" because, from their religious standpoint, i'm not what a good mom "should" (fucking hate that word) be.

to some of the youth staff and youth group, a "good mom" is completely straight, married to a man, no tattoos, no cursing, no drinking, no piercings, "natural" colored hair, sunday morning, wednesday evening prayer group attending mom.

when they look at me, hell, when anyone looks at me, first appearance is anything BUT that.

i'm guessing (purely theoretical as no one has actually ever said anything to my face) when people look at me i can be a bit...intimidating? off putting?

i am not petite. at all. throw in a few visible tattoos, piercings, half shaved head, blue/purple hair...i joke that i'm totally fine walking around downtown any time because no one wants to mess with the plus sized tattooed chick. street kids don't ask me for cigarettes, people don't bump into me on busy streets, there's generally a pretty comfortable bubble that surrounds me wherever i go. 

my brother asked me after the last tattoo: who i was rebelling against and when i would stop?

i'm not a rebel. never have been.

i got my cartilage pierced in college 17 years ago because there was a girl that graduated with my brother (gennessee, super cool name) that was gorgeous and cool and she had one, so of course i needed one. i got my nose pierced after my divorce because it was something _i_ wanted to do and my divorce was all about getting away from someone that told me what i could and couldn't do.

ok. maybe a *bit* rebellious. more reclaiming identity than rebellion.

my tattoos are a version of story telling, not rebellion. they're pieces of me and what i believe and what i've been through. my hair- who the fuck knows. why not cut it and change it? i LOATHE looking in the mirror and seeing boring and frumpy. i work VERY hard to maintain my shallow, superficial appearance. always have. i suppose when you have a mother that only points out flaws you think that's all ANYONE can see and you desperately want to fix it. i don't want to be a lazy, people of walmart joke. i don't want to be known as the girl with the perpetual ponytail. i don't want to be the mom living in yoga pants and a sweatshirt. i want to look nice. i want to look well kept and polished. to me, in my super shallow vanity smurf mind set, having colored hair or a non-standard hair cut shows that i put time and attention into it. it's not the same ignored/neglected haircut from the last 100 years. it shows i'm trying. i keep up the color. i try stupidly hard to do a style every day. i make it a point to get a haircut or change when i find myself using alligator clips more than a few times a week.

BACK TO THE POINT. if i ever pretended to have one.

I LIKE ME. for the first time in a VERY long time, when i look in the mirror I LIKE ME. funny how shaving off 3/4 of your hair can change your self perspective so much. I LIKE MY FACE. like, REALLY like my face. for the first time i don't qualify what i see: oh, you look nice with your hair pulled up this way. oh, you look nice with your make up done. oh, you look nice...WHATEVER.

i keep waiting to look in the mirror and have my usual range of "yuk" to "well, this is as good as it gets" reaction, but it hasn't happened. I LIKE WHAT I SEE. i feel like myself for the first time in a LONG, LONG time. not to sound trite or cliche, but maybe for the first time ever. i like my face. i don't feel like a drag version of my brother. or a passable version of myself. I LIKE MY FACE.

but.

there always has to be a but.

i can't figure out how liking my face blends with the rest of me. and it's the dumbest fucking thing EVER.

can a person with this haircut wear western boots?

WHAT THE FUCK DOES HAIR HAVE TO DO WITH SHOES?

but do you know what i mean? can "edgy" and "hick" co-exist? bullshit like that?

how can i be all the things that i am but not BE any of the things i am?

the amazing women of my book club were very quick to call bullshit when i brought this up- they reminded me that punk rock got it start in bluegrass. i am woefully under-educated when it comes to things like the history of CBGB which stands for COUNTRY, BLUEGRASS, BLUES (*headdesk* moment). OF COURSE PUNK AND COUNTRY CAN GO TOGETHER.

i know, in my head, that for every stereotype there's a thousand people that break that stereotype. i know writers that don't live in a secluded cabin in the woods. i know other moms (even ones of teenagers, gasp) that aren't stuck in frumpyville. i know people with tattoos that aren't societal degenerates. i know stereotypes are as wrong as often as they're right.

i think i just need to get the fuck over myself. tell that little (huge) virgo voice that needs a crisp, clean, precise label on everything to just shut the fuck up already. quit fucking worrying about what other people see or think. THEY AREN'T THE ONES LISTENING TO MY THOUGHT SHIT STORM AT 3AM. and if i like myself and quit fighting myself, that shit storm gets so much quieter.

funny thing that, IF I LIKE MYSELF AND QUIT FIGHTING MYSELF MY SHIT STORM OF SELF HATE GETS QUIETER.

whoda thunk?

so, to wrap up, today's lesson? just fucking love yourself already.

i'll accept my award for captain obvious statement of the day now.

quit worrying about stereo types and what i think things *should* be. quit worrying about what people i've never even met think of me. quit trying to be what some article or google image search has tried to convince me i *should* be. stop analyzing myself to the millionth degree. stop with the lists and reasons other people should hate me. stop with the lists and reasons why _I_ should hate me. i don't have to be happy. i threw that in at first then realized that's putting a lot of pressure on myself. i can be healthy and not "happy," i can have off days and still self care. i can change my look and still like myself. i can gain/lose weight and still be ok. if i am or if i'm not someones expected idea THAT'S OK.

i just need to be healthy. i just need to keep liking me. just as i am (thanks bridgette jones).

HOW?

i don’t love myself.

i know that’s odd to see in real words these days with the THOUSANDS of self love, body positive, acceptance articles floating all over.

i have good days when i don’t loathe myself as much. but for the most part all i hear in my head is a negative soundtrack that is a BITCH to turn off/drown out/ignore/get over.

i’ve tried for YEARS. i have people that love me the way i am. i have a partner that accepts my body as it is and has never once said anything bad about the way i look- quite the opposite actually.

but it’s still there. all those voices drilled in early on. all the years of school kids making fun of my glasses (when you have coke bottle glasses even with the “ultra thin” lenses it’s an issue). i had more than a few bad hair days due to my moms insistence of buying the cheapest by-the-gallon shampoo/conditioner (anyone else remember apple pectin shampoo?) and only the cheapest beauty products in our home (looking at you L.A. Style and aquanet). We had ONE curling iron, if you can call it that- an ancient curl/brush/feather all in one combo. My mom owned exactly one tube of mascara and one basic beige eye shadow and used jergens lotion for EVERYTHING (my acne prone skin cringes at the thought).

when i was young i was fortunately unaware of the bulk of people making fun of me. i lived in a world of books and didn’t particularly get along with 3D characters. i didn’t know until years later that my brother had to beg my mom to teach me to shave my legs because the kids on swim team were making fun of me. i didn’t realize until well after high school that the guy who asked me to tutor him did so because he thought that maybe being seen with him would get other people to leave me alone.

i know it’s been an absurd amount of years ago, but i still hear my moms voice in my head every time i try on a red shirt telling me how much it makes my blotchy skin and acne stand out. Guess how many red shirts I own? even though i have NO IDEA what it means, i still hear her voice in my head telling me i have a “shelf butt” and have to be careful what i wear. i hear her, after my second kiddo, telling me how nice i look and how well i take care of myself for “someone my size.” there was a lady at my mom’s church that i adored. she was GORGEOUS and always looked amazingly put together (plus she would sing occasionally and had the most beautiful voice i had ever heard). i remember my mom saying how lovely she looked and how impressive it was she looked that way for being a dairy farmer’s wife. WHAT? the kicker is, i think my mom honestly thought she was saying something nice. it never occurred to her that quantifying things by saying “for your size” or “for a farmer’s wife” were HUGELY insulting.

i still hear the girls in high school making fun of me for wearing too much blue eyeshadow (before i even owned ANY make up. pale/translucent skin is a bitch). i remember the horror of leaving foundation marks on people i hugged before learning about blending/setting your makeup. i remember my dads second wife not very politely pointing out that i was wearing the wrong color foundation and hadn’t learned how to avoid “make up mask” yet.

as a bonus, i have an older brother who was horrified by everything i did in high school (and still doesn’t get me now). he HATED that i was in drama, thought i only had weird friends, didn’t like that i wasn’t athletic or in sports (even though i did try volleyball and softball in jr high to very, very little success). now he still laments every tattoo on my skin and makes all sorts of off comments about my hair color. he’s glad that i’m finally “back to a natural color of hair” even though i’ve reminded him anything that comes with a formula and has to be mixed/applied every 8 weeks isn’t quite “natural”.

for a VERY short time i had a husband that HATED me. all my clothes were trashy and not fit to be seen out in public. i was a mortifying embarrassment to him if i left the house without make up. i was destroying his public image when we went grocery shopping because i carried my purse on my shoulder versus putting it in the cart.

I know ALL the things i just lamented about are total bullshit. they’re other peoples issues projected on me. it’s my mom’s own body issues and lack of knowledge. it’s my brother’s own security and image issues. it’s my ex-husbands way of controlling and abusing. NONE OF IT WAS ME.

i did the best i could with what i had. i still do. i still make sure my clothes are the right size and i’m not trying to fit 10 pounds of butter in a 5 pound tub. i can *occasionally* leave the house without make-up but it’s a conscious effort. i spend ungodly amounts of money getting my hair cut and colored. i LOATHE myself for not spending MORE time getting ready in the morning. i *should* (worst word in the english language) get up every morning and curl/style my hair. i *should* spend more time and effort trying to get rid of the acne that still plagues me. i *should* spend more time shopping and finding clothes that aren’t tee-shirts and jeans. i *should* shave my legs and wear dresses more often. i *should* a million things. those *should* statements are why i only own one hooded sweatshirt now (they look sloppy. you *should* have more pride in yourself).

all i see in the mirror is a vain but still hideous monster. i hate how much i look like my brother without make up on. i hate that my hair does this half frizz half curl half straight all a mess if i don’t spend hours on it with products and potions and power tools. i HATE the way my body looks, but i hate even more the thought of people seeing me sweating and with frizzy hair and without make up more. no, seriously, who has the time to work out when it takes 20 minutes before hand to remove your makeup, make sure you’re properly fitted into clothes that aren’t too offensive, revealing, and properly lock down all the wobbly bits, WORK OUT (complete with boob sweat and frizzy hair horror) and then repair all the damage done so you’re presentable to the world again? i will never, EVER understand how people work out on their lunch hour.

i guess this is all the really long, pathetic way of saying HOW DO YOU QUIT BEING SO VAIN? how do you not worry about your blotchy/acne skin when you’re wearing a red shirt (or just in general)? how do you work out without worrying about looking like the creature from the black lagoon? how do you go to the grocery store in the morning without being in full war paint? how do you turn off the negative track in your head? how do you *REALLY* believe the positive things people say about you? how do you love yourself? like, really, truly, honestly, not afraid to stand in front of the mirror naked, love yourself? i really, 100% don’t get it. i read the self love articles. i talk to friends that have a great body image. and all i can think is “...yeah, but…”

i’m confident in other things; that bolsters the “fake it til you make it” portion of the vanity. i know i can hold a decent conversation. i have a passable sense of humor (even if not always entirely appropriate). i can sling sentences together fairly well. i’m damn good at my job. i have a fucking amazing house (finally). i have good kids and an adorable bastard dog that distract people fairly well. i love the people around me exactly the way they are, but HOW DO I DO THAT FOR MYSELF?