accept others

i was raised to be polite. to bite my tongue. don't stand out. don't be the loud one.

always be in control of your actions. always be thoughtful and reasonable.

we didn't talk about politics in my house growing up, EVER. religion was not discussed, it just WAS. every sunday morning and sunday evening and wednesdays. there was never a discussion about it. or why we went to that specific church. or why we suddenly switched churches. it just was.

there was one lesbian teacher at our school and she did her best to blend in, never cause trouble, never cause suspicion or even the slightest whisper of improper behavior or language or anything.

i didn't grow up learning about women's rights. i didn't know about LGBTQ. i didn't know about...fuck, anything really. i graduated high school because that's what you do. pregnant or not. and went to college because it's what you do, especially when you have a kid to support. education = better job (that was the standard line then). i became a secretary because i was good at it. of course my pay was less because it's a support staff role. it wasn't because i'm female.

things just were the way they were. when i asked questions i was wrong. so you don't ask questions. just accept things as they are and keep your head down and keep doing what you're doing.

stability, security, staying out of the newspaper. that was it.

well, here i am now, 37, and i'm tired of things just being the way they are. i'm tired of biting my tongue. i'm tired of not speaking my mind because it might offend someone. i'm tired of filtering myself to only let specific parts around specific people because it's what they're comfortable with. WHAT ABOUT WHAT I'M COMFORTABLE WITH.

i'm tired of seeing the assholes get away with being assholes.

i'm tired of feeling like i can't find a space to belong because it would mean leaving a piece of myself behind.

i can fit in with this group, but they don't like gay people.

i can fit in with this group but they don't like tattoos.

i can fit in with this group but they aren't intellectual and don't get most of my comments.

i'm not religious enough for them, i'm too spiritual for that group...

i can fit in with that group but they don't like that i tend to be a conservative democrat, or *gasp* an independent.

i can fit in with the other group but they don't get that i have kids.

i'm too gay to be straight, but not gay enough to BE GAY.
 
don't talk about sex around that group, don't mention empathic abilities or chakra healing around those people, those people think yoga is on the level with witch craft. don't talk about...

the venn diagram of my acquaintance groups looks more like a bowl of cheerios scattered on the floor. *maybe* a little overlap like the olympic rings, but...actually, probably more like audi. 

it's fucking exhausting and lonely.

JUST BE YOURSELF.

says the person who hasn't been removed from seemingly every invitation list.

says the person who hasn't been on the other side of the nasty looks and snide comments.

or says the person who has found a self confidence and bulletproof self worth that i can't even begin to imagine.



so, almost a year ago i quit my job.

this will all tie in together, i promise.

i complained about my job all the time, we all do, but i was good at it. it paid well, i had insurance, 401K, i had coworkers i liked, i had a routine down and i had everything dialed in.

i also listened to hate speech all the time.

i listened on the regular to talk like: "my wife had to sit next to some of THOSE people on the plane to Hawaii. they  were going to get married. they shouldn't be allowed to get married."

"if a gay service person came to my house [the comcast guy in this instance], i would tell them to leave and call the company to complain and make them send someone else."

"single moms are destroying our economy. they just sit around all day collecting child support and welfare. do you know how much my cousin got on her tax return? $5000 and she's on welfare."

"i'm prejudice. i'm not afraid to say it." "you mean against (whipsering) african americans?" "nope. all of them. i'm prejudice against all of them."

that last comment, a conversation between a coworker and the owner was the final straw for me. i turned in my two day notice on wednesday and was done that friday.

i told the owner EXACTLY why i was quitting. she didn't even bat an eye. SHE. yes, a female owner. nothing. what she DID do is leave the office and announce to the whole office that i was quitting, go to the coworker that the prejudice conversation was with and tell her.

the coworker immediately confronted me and blamed me for her being blamed for my quitting. told me i was "being too sensitive" and she "didn't mean it that way" and i needed to let things roll off my back.

SHE. DOUBLED. DOWN.

and i, as calmly as i could explained, that there's not too many ways you can mean "i'm prejudice against all of them." i explained that no, it wasn't *just* because of her, but she did need to own a part of it. yes, it was a pile of other things too. but YES, YOUR HORRIBLE WORDS FINISHED IT.

but, nearly a year later, MUCH introspection, and a really, incredibly hard mental health month later, here's what i have to say:

to my coworkers:

you want to rant about single moms needing welfare? maybe it's because we had to take a $5 PER HOUR pay-cut when we had to leave our job due to racism and bigotry.

maybe we need help because we got tired of our coworkers groping our breasts whenever they felt like it and decided no job was worth dealing with that.

maybe we need help because when we file a sexual harassment complaint the person who harassed and groped you IS ALLOWED TO HUG YOU AS AN APOLOGY.

you're so worried about your wife or your family being "exposed" to a gay person like it's a disease??

SORRY I GOT MY GAY ON YOUR WIFE AT THE CHRISTMAS PARTY WHEN I SHOOK HER HAND. she should probably just get her whole arm amputated. you can afford it. you still have insurance.

so. to my former coworkers, you won that battle. i'm ashamed i quit and walked away without standing up for myself. i'm ashamed i didn't call you out and make you realize that all your venomous speech was impacting someone literally across the room from you. in all your hatred and closed mindedness you couldn't even imagine that you might know someone that didn't agree, and even possible be sitting just 10 feet away from you.

i hope, with all my being, none of your children are gay. i can't imagine that pain and heartache having a parent like you would cause them.

i've seen your ugly hearts. i've listened to your ignorant words. i 've listened to your hate and "jokes" and i stayed quiet because _I_ was raised to be polite and go out of my way to make sure no one else feels the way you unthinkingly make everyone around you feel.

but you know what?

i'm done.

i won't go out of my way to be rude to you, like you were for YEARS to me. i was raised better than that.

but i will no longer be polite. i will no longer bite my tongue.

it's a small town. if i see you out and about, i will not hide myself to avoid you. i will say hello and offer you the acceptance and sense of humanity you refuse to others. but if i hear you make horrible comments or "jokes", I WILL SAY SOMETHING. i will not make a scene. i will not make a spectacle. but i will not be quiet any longer.

you're so big and brave when you don't know the person you're talking about is listening.

SAY IT TO MY FACE. i will no longer let it slide.

i'm learning, slowly, painfully, incredibly late in life, i'm learning to love who i am. not pieces. not love the socially presentable version of myself. i'm learning how to love ALL of myself. 

i just looked up and saw a magnet on my fridge and laughed a little.

do you see it?

no, not the sweet saved by the bell magnet.

no, not the pictures of my kid or the puppy medicine...

no...the other one, the top corner, right above oscar the grouch...

accept others.

maybe i need to tape over that and write YOURSELF.

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?

sludge

it's been a long time since i've posted a light/fun blog. i was going to apologize for that, but life hasn't exactly been light or fun lately and i need to quit "should-ing" myself about what to write or feel.

i should be getting over london.

i should be enjoying the holidays.

i should be...

fuck all that. i'm having a fuck of a last few weeks. things are the hardest they've been in a while and i'm not going to apologize or feel bad for admitting that.

i've been trying not to let myself get stuck in a pity party. i've been trying to go about my day and just let things feel like normal. it's fucking exhausting. right here, right now, things are not okay and i'm not going to pretend they are.

i am working on making things better. i'm not sitting here just wallowing. this isn't about poor me, how do i get out of this. i'm already working on it. but for a moment, i'm going to just flat say: THIS, this part right here, it sucks. and it's okay to feel bad.

i'm not happy at my jobs. sorry if my bosses happen to be reading this. i don't like working so many different places and still barely patching by. i don't like waking up on a saturday in a panic because i can't remember which office i'm supposed to be at. i don't like that i can't even cover my own ass insurance wise even though it's available at both jobs. i don't like that i need to find ANOTHER new job. i don't like this much change. notice please that the jobs themselves aren't the problem. i like where i work. i like my jobs. i like the people i work with. i DON'T like that i put myself in this corner. i don't like that i feel horrible knowing that i need to leave sooner than later to take care of myself and my kids. i don't like the pending feeling of walking away from people that took a chance on me and helped me get through a damn hard spot. i don't like that i have to go back to a corporate (or equivalent) grind. i don't like the idea of another first day. i don't like the idea of another new set of people to get used to. but i know i have to make a change. i need insurance. i need solid hours. i need to know each day when i wake up where i'm supposed to be. i need to be a grown up again.

speaking of needing insurance: it sucks giant balls that A) i'm fucking sick. B) i have to apply and prove how broke i am to try to get approved to maybe be put on a waiting list for surgery C) i have giant fucking bills already piling up from the ER trip, the doctor trip, the prescriptions. i know surgery will be a few days off work, which means cuts to the paychecks. i'm too poor to be sick, but according to the paperwork i make too much money to get assistance. i HATE the looks i get when i say i don't have rent or a car payment. well, if you can afford a house, what are you doing in our offices? ummm...everyone died and i got one check, one time and THOUGHT i was doing the right thing. holy fuck has that decision bit me in the ass more than a few times already. i fucking hate that i'm scared to eat food. sure, it's nifty that i've already dropped 15 pounds but i HATE that i never know what will wake me up in the middle of the night in crazy pain. i fucking hate that if shit goes sideways between now and the possible waiting list, there's no plan B. MAYBE a hospital will do surgery if it's an emergency situation. MAYBE. in the meantime- when was the last time my will was updated? what would happen to the spawns? why the fuck did i ever give up my desk jockey job with good insurance and plenty of sick leave? i hate how irresponsible it makes me feel. i hate how helpless it makes me feel. i hate all of this fucking stupid bullshit. all over a fucking extra body part that no one needs anyway. seriously evolution- couldn't have taken care of this a few thousand years ago for me?

and here's the big one: you knew it was coming. i'm still working through the london trip.

it's killing me. in strange ways. when i said it would be a life changing trip, i had no idea what that could possibly mean.

there's two parts to this one, and it's going to get ugly and dark. welcome to my brain the last few weeks. it's not a good place to be.

part one: new york: we've been keeping in touch. i've been trying to dial back and just be a friend and a support. i'm doing a shitty job at it. i care so much about him that it's killing me holding back everything. i want to just say what i feel and all that girl crap- especially on days like today watching another huge national tragedy happen. i know too damn well how short life is. i want to be able to say what i feel when i feel it because i've learned the hard fucking way you more often than not don't get the second chance to say it. but i know at the same time he's not in the right place to hear it. i don't know if or when he will be. i do know that we've had very limited text conversations since i've been there. i haven't "seen" him on skype once since then. we haven't talked via phone or skype at all. and i know he has no clue what my brain has been doing since i got on the plane home. he has no clue all the crap that i've been working through. he has no clue how much this whole thing is tearing me apart. and he shouldn't right now. he's already got enough shit he's dealing with- he doesn't need my emotional baggage on top of it. and so i'm stuck in this horrible place of not being able to say anything and just being WRECKED. i don't know how to just be a friend when i care this much about someone. and i know this will sound like a petulant child, but it doesn't seem fair that i should have to stuff my emotions away and be this miserable just because he's not ready for it right now. yes, i just said it doesn't seem fair. because normally life is just so fair.
and it's killing me not to be able to talk or text to him more often and more than "how was your day" "busy" type crap. the worst part checks in on a level 10 crazy girl level- the app that i use to text him shows the last time someone was on line. i can see that he's been in the app. i can see he's been checking his phone and not responding to or starting a conversation. like right now: open the app and it shows he last checked in at 430 this evening. i haven't heard from him since wednesday night. do you have any idea what that does to a girl brain?
and i know there’s the argument of just getting over it and kicking him to the curb. how do you do that to someone you’ve invested 8 years in? especially when they’re going through some honestly TERRIBLE shit that can fuck any person up and change everything about the way they respond to things and their day to day interactions. i can’t give up on him and honestly- i don’t want to. i still hang on to the fact that when shit hit the fan, i was the one he called and wanted to talk to. i hang on to the fact that the whole time i was there he kept saying how glad he was to have me sitting next to him. he liked looking over and seeing me. i can’t dismiss that after 8 years, seeing him again was smooth and seamless. how often does that happen? after that amount of time you can just pick up right where you left off? i can’t get over him smiling at me and telling me i’m gorgeous. i can’t get over all the strange, random things that make him totally perfect for me. we have the same fucking cereal bowls. sounds stupid, but seriously- we both have the same tony the tiger cereal bowl. dumbest thing on earth but it’s still a thing. i made his coffee exactly right the first try. hell, his dog didn’t even bark at me once (and put her toy in my suitcase within an hour of being there). i just. i can’t give up. but i haven’t found a way to survive it yet either.

then there’s this other part of it.

this has nothing to do with new york oddly enough. but everything to do with the trip.

when i came home i dissected every part of every moment trying to find answers in speculation. i’m a virgo. it’s what we do. we over analyze and drive ourselves insane trying to find a concrete answer to everything even when there is no answer. i picked apart everything. even this idea: we had sex once when we got there, then his back hurt too much to be able to do it again. he did try one other time but just couldn’t. so. hmmm. was it because his back really was hurt? or was his  back a convenient excuse to get out of having sex with me? did my body change too much from the last time he saw me? was he no longer attracted? was i not good enough? was it too soon to have someone new in his bedroom after his wife leaving? you can imagine all the dark corners a crazy girl brain can wander off into.

the question itself: injury vs excuse, is a moot point. i don’t know. i don’t know what was going on in his head. i can speculate all day long but unless i ask new york directly that’s a question i’ll never have an answer for. at this point it doesn’t matter. there’s argument in my head as to if it ruined or saved the trip. how would i have felt if i had gone over there and it HAD been the crazy sexcapade i planned on? would i have just felt like a cheap tart that paid all that money just for sex? the world’s most backwards call girl? maybe it was better that we were able to just spend time together without all the sex muddying the waters?

but question as to why we didn’t have sex: doesn’t matter.

here’s what matters. i asked one of my oldest friends the question. he has no better answer than i do. it’s all speculation. even harder for him- it’s one sided information. but he is a guy- he may have a better idea of how another guy brain works and 99% of his readings have been right, but it’s still just speculation.

here’s how the conversation went:

me: that’s the hardest part for me. i just want to know an honest why. if i wasn’t what he remembered after 8 years, fine. just say so. if i was too fat, just say so. whatever it is, just shoot me and put me out of my misery.

him: yup. i agree. when did he tell you about his back? just before you left?

me: after i got there. yeah. ouch. good excuse to avoid having sex with someone you’re not into.

him: yup. that’s exactly it too.


“that’s exactly it too.”

my very worst, most painful thought about myself- that someone, a very important someone would lie to me to get out of having to be with me- that’s exactly it.

i know he didn’t mean it to hurt, he was just speculating and being honest with me, but holy fuck did that open a pandoras box of self image issues.

so, i’ve had that rattling around in my head for the last week.

i have a hard time with my body. i want to love myself the way i am. the person i see in my head and in the mirror is a gorgeous creature. i take care of myself, i do my make up carefully, i try really hard to pick out clothes that fit my body and make me look my best. i’m a terribly vain creature. i hate leaving the house without at least mascara. i worry about my hair and my nails. i don’t want to be submitted for the people of walmart blog. in the mornings when i’m done with getting ready i generally feel GOOD about myself. i like what i see. i’m ok with my size and shape. then something happens- sometimes i’ll see a picture of myself. sometimes i’ll look in the mirror when i get home and realize something went tragically wrong at some point and no one warned me. i really do take THE WORST pictures on earth. that isn’t part of my vanity, that’s a cold truth. i’ve had friends take pictures of me and say WHAT THE FUCK JUST HAPPENED? so when i’m out and about on the town doing tweet ups and things then get home and see the pictures- it’s hard. i’m learning not to let it get to me, whatever is in the picture is how people see me all the time even if it’s not how i see myself.

BUT. to think that the image of myself that i hate the most- to think that’s really why someone wouldn’t want to be with me. to think that they can’t even glimpse the person i see in the mirror in the mornings- that fucking HURTS. i want someone that sees me as the beautiful creature i see in myself. i want them to see the sexy girl dancing in the kitchen making dinner, not a beached whale having a seizure. i want someone to see the sexy person that i feel like i am even if perhaps i don’t look exactly like i do in my head.

and i know- big shock that a guy would dismiss a girl because of her looks. oldest news story around. hell, i had a lover once tell me straight out that i was too fat to date. it was ok to sleep with me and hang out at my house, but he couldn’t be seen at clubs with me.

so this isn’t the first time i’ve heard this. not a new shocking revelation.

but there’s something about the way this one happened. coming from one of my closest people about the man that i care the most about. it’s the worst thing in the world from the two most important people.

i hate my body right now for being sick. i hate that i’m genetically not a petite girl. i hate myself for not being more proactive about getting in shape. i hate myself for being so vain and worried about it all. i hate that it affects how people see and interact with me.

i don’t need another reason to hate myself. i’m doing a pretty damn good job of it all on my own.

but to hear that. to have it be what changed the trip? to hear that it’s not just me having a paranoid thought in my head that YES, it’s exactly what a guy would think? that’s a whole black, destructive level of hate i haven’t felt towards myself in a long time.

and i’ve been trying to work through it but it’s one of those things that the instant i even begin to think about it i can just feel this dark spiral setting in and i don’t have time for that. i have kids, i have jobs, i have a magazine, i have shit to do. i can’t sit around paralyzed trying to work through that feeling. i don’t have the time or the ability to hide under the covers and be sad or hurt. better to just stick it on the back burner. funny thing about the back burner though, it can’t be ignored forever. especially when there’s piles of stress coming from every direction coupled with lack of sleep, more than normal pain levels, suddenly the back burner is the front corner burner on high and boiling over. “that’s exactly it.” i’ve been mulling it over every day. hating myself a little more every day. i’ve been trying to dismiss it but damn it all if the bad stuff isn’t harder to get rid of than any good thing. and at this point it’s outlasted my small reserve of good things. and all i can see right now is the negative. the lack of text messages. too many questions, no answers. the negative body images taking over. the negative self talk. the negative beliefs. i’m starting to drown in them. i guess writing about it is my way of clawing back to the surface. maybe it will rattle around less stuck to paper.

i don’t have many answers right now. i’m working on the ones i can. i’m working on a better job that takes care of ish. i’m working on getting the medical crap resolved somehow.

this last one though- both parts of it. still not sure how to take it on. how to make it better. which for a natural fixer...it’s a little stressful not being able to come up with an answer or a solution. vicious cycle that bit. stress about an issue. more stress about not being able to resolve the stress. stress about the new stress from not being able to resolve the initial stress. quite dizzying and draining.

but i’m not giving up. it isn’t in me, for better or worse. i’ll keep looking for answers and solutions. find a way to hate myself less and let go of the rest of it. i can’t change what’s happened. until my delorean gets back from the shop at least. i can’t force now to be magically and suddenly better. and worry/stress is like a rocking chair- whole lot of nothing that gets you nowhere. maybe the answer is simply that there is no answer and i have to be okay with that. maybe the answer is not yet or be patient. the good lord himself knows how little patience i have. the line was too long to wait to get any more when they were passing it out. maybe this is a chance for me to see my worse self image and learn to get over it. maybe it’s a wake up call- having the worst things about yourself confirmed can be a powerful motive for change.

i’m working through the sludge. i don’t particularly like it but i’m not simply going to stay stuck in it either.

that's you little girl-

last week i was going to write a blog. not a very nice blog. i was going to write a pretty damn mean blog. to myself. about everything. my body. my life. depression. i was trying like hell not to be hard on myself, but my brain had other ideas. every time i looked in a mirror i would hear these evil little voices in my head. every time i looked at pictures from vegas i couldn't help but compare. i would tell myself: you know, they SAY you got looks in vegas, but it was only people wondering what the hell the three hot chicks were doing with the beached whale. or: sure they guys at clubs said four hot women- but it's only because they're smart enough to know that if they want to hit on ONE they have to compliment all FOUR. guys are at least smart enough to know that. i kept remembering that i used to say in high school: if my belly ever stick out further than my boobs, just shoot me. well, guess what captain ahab: pull out the harpoon...it's getting close.

BUT.

then i looked in the mirror this week and saw something different. and i heard a different voice.

this week when i've looked in the mirror i've seen a beautiful woman. a lady who has been working hard to take care of herself and take pride in herself. a woman who had leaned to dress for her body, apply her makeup tastefully, style her hair with pride but not vanity. i've seen a beautiful creature looking back at me and i heard a voice in my head: that's you little girl, and you're beautiful. and i can't explain it. it's not something i ever remember hearing my dad say to me, but i'm damn sure it's him saying it to me now: THAT'S YOU LITTLE GIRL, AND YOU'RE BEAUTIFUL.

i've changed over the last few weeks- well, except last week that is. i've morphed in a way. i've started to see someone else in the mirror. i mentioned it a few times to my gals in vegas- i see this beautiful creature looking back at me and it's shocking to realize THAT'S ME. i can't explain it. nothing big has changed- i darkened my hair a bit again which is not new. it's the same make up. it's the same hair style. but when i look i see a whole new person. and it's taking me a while to get used to her. she's confident. she's well put together in age appropriate and body appropriate clothes. she's beautiful. and it's me. 

i'm sure i sound like i'm a bit off my rocker right now. and i can't really explain it any better. but something has changed AND I LIKE IT.

i'm sure i'll still have off days. i'm sure this won't last forever. but for now- this is a really fucking good feeling. it's kinda nice to REALLY like me.