Gut

I am struggling with decisions. I feel I have made so many major decisions this year, with so many of them terrible or at least majorly flawed, that I am incapable of making more.

In the past, I would have described myself as a swift decision maker. I was sure and confident in my choices and willing to accept the consequences of them. This past year, I would not say that. I would describe myself as permanently hesistant, always unsure and full of second guesses. This is foreign to me. 

I am sure it is also fleeting. 

I have told myself a thousand times in the last year that “this too shall pass”. I almost got it tattooed on my body as a reminder (that was an unsure decision also lol). I assume this lethargy and self doubt will pass as well. When the low times pass. When this seemingly permanent exhaustion and depression lifts. 

Today I had to make a fairly major choice. After the initial panic and inability to breathe, I listed the pros and cons. As I’ve mentioned before, I love a good list. It makes me feel in control when really, I have no control. So I listed. Pros. Cons. Discussed the options with my super smart friends and mom. My mom, bless her heart, will never and has never told me what to do. It makes me insane sometimes. It’s a great quality of hers, but sometimes I just want someone to make my choices. Like Monica did for Rachel. Clearly I can’t make my own, so someone else do it for me. 

A very good friend of mine told me to trust my gut. I immediately knew what I needed to do. For about 15 seconds. Then I started to question. 

I am 49 days away from being 40 years old. And I am so out of touch with what my “gut” is telling me that I need to write a blog about it. I am so full of self doubt that I need to question if I am hearing what my intuition is telling me, or if it’s someone elses voice. 

I have talked before about my voice. How I’ve silenced it over the years... how I’ve swallowed it down and how I’ve shoved my truth down my own throat rather than speaking. Also how I’ve promised myself no more. No more of that. My voice will be loud and honest and MINE. 

My good friend also said “it’s a mountain, not a hill. So it takes longer” when I complained about the amount of shit that has fallen this year. 

Girl. You’re so right. It’s a damn mountain. Nothing worth having comes easy. This, the absolute worst year of all of my 40, is my mountain. I wouldn’t sit down on a mountain climb and quit. You don’t get to the top by sitting on your ass- and nothing will change if I don’t do the work. If I don’t listen to my gut. 

I didn’t go through all this to settle for anything less than authentic and amazing and worthwhile. 

I will relearn to listen to my gut. To make my choices mine, and the resulting events also mine. That doesn’t mean to make choices in fear of the consequences, because I have also promised myself to live fearlessly. To love hard and love the most despite being afraid of being broken; to be vulnerable and open; to be soft despite the protectiveness of becoming hard. 

The gut never lies. My heart is an idiot. My brain is chronically overthinking.... but the gut never lies. 

Broken

I feel broken. There is no better word that I can think of. It feels like there is a weight on my chest. Every breath is too fast, too shallow and too much work.

When I bring my attention it it, my stomach flips and my legs feel shaky. My Brain is going in all different directions and then In none and I just stare blankly. I am broken. 

I am smart and self aware enough to identify about what I should do when I feel this way. 

I should exercise. 

I should call a friend for company. 

I should get off my couch and do something. Do anything. 

I don’t want to do anything unless its time with the people who’s absence is linked to my brokenness.  

I need to put my pieces back. If I’ve learned anything in my multitude of life mistakes, I’ve learned that no one else will or should put you back together. This time I feel like there are big pieces missing though, and even if I do someday suck it up and put them back, there will be a hole. 

I will find a way to fake it. It does not come naturally to me to fake anything and it takes an exhaustive amount of work on my part, but I will. Not because I’m trying to be tough or trying to pretend the emotions aren’t there, but because I have to. Fake it till you make it. 

Fraud

Ugh. If I had a descriptive word for this month, Ugh would be it. Don't get me wrong- there have been beautiful moments. Many beautiful moments that I wish I could freeze and stay in forever... but then reality comes back or I freak out and the moment is gone. So Ugh it is.
I got a random message from a friend a couple weeks ago. I wish I could say we are close, but I usually only see her as she drives past my house on the way home to hers. She is gorgeous, smart, funny and amazing in her strength and resolve. These are the people I want to surround myself with.
Her out of the blue message said that i influence her life in a positive way, and that when she doubts standing up for who she is and having a voice, she asks herself what I would do. She said I empower her by being so authentic.
If you know me, you know how messages like that affect me. To my core. That is the thing I miss most about training- conversations with people where they suddenly get it. Where something I said makes them rethink what they have been doing and realize how to change. I am not doing the work, but talking them through the mess. That's it. I take walking the walk pretty seriously, and shared my struggles and pain as well.
Her message made me so happy. She's always been an amazing person, she just didn't know it yet. The idea that I can help someone find their voice makes me happier than wine even does. This is the reason I am here. On this Earth, in this place.
Yesterday a friend posted a quote on IG. I loved it (bitches love quotes). I saved it and reread it. I thought about it for hours. I commented to her that it was my goal for 2018. To love myself fiercely and completely. To be my own hero and to save my damn self.
She said that I already do and I am one of the most authentic, strong and real people she knows.

Friends. I am a fraud.

I have not been doing any of those things. I have not been authentic. I have lost myself in a sea of other people's expectations and judgements about who I am. I have accepted things that are not acceptable. I have not loved myself fiercely or at all at times. I have lost my authenticity. I have lost my voice. I can actually feel it sometimes like a lump in my throat. My yogi Michele would say that's my blocked chakra but I don't always buy in to that yoga business.... but right now I can feel it.

These are two ladies whom I admire and who seem to live fearlessly. I know them both, so I know the fear is there- but they do it anyway. That's the goddamn key. I tell the kids that all the time- it's ok to be scared, but it's not ok to not try. So here we go. I am scared as hell but I have to get back to me. Back to being fearlessly authentic. Back to my voice.

Selfish or Self Care?

I have been called many things. Some accurate; some not. Some hit the core of who I am, and some were easy to brush off as foreign.
Few elicit a reaction as visceral as being called "selfish".
The most important job I have is being a mom. Being a teacher is hella important also, but these two small humans are part of me. I will never be famous, or change the world in an enormous way, and I am totally ok with that. I will affect the future with my children. It is a huge responsibility to create loving, kind, confident humans. If my children know they are loved, every moment of every day, and feel that security to make their own way in the world, then I have succeeded.
Because of all this, when I am called selfish, it somehow attacks my success as a parent. I doubt that makes sense to many, but it may to some. To me, selfish has such a negative connotation that it cannot possible be congruous with being a good parent. To be selfish is putting your needs over someone elses... and how could a good mom do that?

To survive, that's how.

I routinely put others before myself. I don't mean that in a bragging way. I don't mean that my way is better, because based on my current mental health, I would say it's not. I just do. I am sure I learned from my mother, and I am at my core a caregiver. I will give up what I want so others are taken care of. I genuinely do not mind most of the time. I will gladly give up an hour of sleep because A asks me to get up and snuggle with him. He's 8, so god knows it won't happen for much longer. I let him crawl on my lap even though he weighs 90 lbs and it kills my hip. I will happily allow G to sit with me and watch her terrible YouTube videos. I will give up my evenings for kids sports and activities and sacrifice holidays to pay for hockey. I will take them down waterslides even though I hate water in my face, and I will run up tobaggan hills in the freezing cold. I will give up space in my bed, expectations for how clean my house is and sick days. These are easy ones.

It's much harder to reconcile giving up pieces of myself.

I have blogged before about how I truly believe that we are responsible for what we allow others to take from us. I do believe that to be true. I have allowed everything. I have allowed people to chip away at me until I am scared there is nothing left but resentment and brokenness. I have enabled and maybe even encouraged behavior that I would say is not acceptable.

We have all heard the "put your own mask on before any one elses" with the airplane mask analogy. We have read the meme "you can't pour from an empty cup". I promote self care in every yoga class. I practice self care by eating properly so my arthritis doesn't cripple me, by exercising almost every day and with yoga. Sometimes though, it isn't enough. It's those extra times where I feel selfish. Where I take extra time just for me. Just to BE me. To be myself without who I am as being defined by the relation to someone else. To remember WHO that actually is. We are told who to be, how to be and when to be. Because if I am taking time, I am subtracting it from somewhere else.
I took a day yesterday. A whole day. It's a long story and I was supposed to be gone for the weekend, but it didn't work out. So I took the day. I had lunch with a friend. I wandered a mall for hours by myself. I looked at books and didn't have to bribe anyone to be quiet. I got a coffee. I sat. Just sat. I actually tried on clothes rather than just buying them in a rush so the kids wouldn't get bored. I wanted to run, but the time goes by fairly quickly.
I missed my son's game winning goal. I cried.

As usual, I have no insight or answers. I have the realization that I cannot give pieces away without somehow rebuilding them. I have the guilt about missing the goal, but the happiness of my kid when I came home and he gave me a huge hug and a long play by play. I have the certainty that adult decisions are rarely easy, and the knowledge that we largely live in shades of grey. There are so few black and white scenarios, and you cannot have it all. If I choose to be selfish, despite the negative associations, then I choose to give up my selfless designation. Maybe at 39, it's time to redefine the pieces that I am willing to give away.


Yours,
C.

The Bad

As I get older, I realize more that there are three sides to every story.  Each person has such  a different perspective and the truth lies somewhere in between.  But what is the truth?, just another subjective idea. 
It also never fails to amaze me how quick we all are to believe the absolute worst of people.
There is a quote from Pretty Woman about the bad stuff being easier to believe. 

Sigh. 

Last time?

This will likely be my last blog. As much as I love blasting all my thoughts into the universe, accepted opinions and controversial, as I move back into the professional world, I need to keep my mouth on the DL. 

A friend asked to meet for coffee today. As much as I truly enjoy her, we have never hung out. My first thought was "Holy shit why?!?! What happened. What could she want from me?". Never just hey maybe she wants to chat. Maybe someone is just trying to be friends, as you have discussed hanging out for 2 years now on social media, but never actually done it.
That's how I roll. I have the best of intentions. I do WANT to spend time if I say I do (if I don't want to, I just avoid the conversation with a haha or something cheap), but I intend to do so when I say it. It just rarely happens. Because I am lazy, because I am busy, because I actually like to sit alone, because I have friends I rarely see and I need to fit them in too... a thousand excuses.
A friend of mine told me sometime last year that I was guarded. My initial response was ME?!?! Guarded?  No way. I am an open book. I am full of love and sunshine and rainbows and acceptance.
Nope, she's right. I am guarded. I am hard to get close to, and I will withdraw from those initial relationships at the first sign of trouble. After the honeymoon though, I am stuck like glue.
As I get older, I realize these things about myself. Maybe I wasn't always that way, and years of disappointments have created it, or maybe I was. My memory is bad. 

So when someone new asks me to hang out, I assume the worst.
I went though, because I truly enjoy this woman and I wanted to spend time with her, regardless of the reason.
Which brings me to my point- and I do have one.
She said she wanted to talk to me because she knew I would be honest. Brutally honest even. In thinking about it afterwards, that is me. Is it popular? No. But it's me.
I struggled for years with who I am. I always thought I was a late bloomer. I found my spot late. I had kids late. I went to university late. I figured out what I want from life late. I had to make some serious mistakes before I knew who I was and what I wanted. I had to go through the shit I DIDN'T want first.
For years I defined myself by the man in my life. I hate to admit that, but it is true. Sometimes genuine passions grew from identifying with his hobbies... and sometimes genuine pain came from them. Sometimes both at once, all convuluted and messed up. It took time and pain and mistakes to realize what I wanted... what kind of eggs I like. (Runaway bride reference. If you got that, we are kindred spirits and you should come over for wine and cookies right now).

I guess all those memes are right- as you get older, you have less f*cks to give. You learn more about yourself and (as my friend said today) you learn to give yourself value. You learn what you are worth, and you are unwilling to accept less.
I am honest. I will not coddle or tell you what you want to hear. Maybe that makes me a good friend, maybe it makes me a shitty one. Maybe both. But it is how I am. Maybe I am guarded; maybe I am intolerant of bullshit; maybe I am lots of good things too.... and even though I strive to be better and be more- I strive to be more authentic. Not different, but more ME. 

Hugs to all who have read my messy blog off and on for a while. I appreciate that someone, somewhere, takes the time to wade through my thought process, offensive or not. Much (guarded and flawed) love to you all.

Plastics

I was at a home party a while ago. If you're a suburban mom, you know the kind. A friend of yours signs up to be a consultant of some merchandise and invites you and all their aquantainces over to eat cheese and look through items you don't really need.... but will buy depending on how much of her cheese you've eaten. They always say "just come, you don't have to buy anything!". Yeah right. So you spend the evening weighing the value of snacks you've consumed against how much you need another smelly bar of wax, or which necklaces will match your yoga pants...then go home and stuff the receipt in your glove box because the hubster decided you should watch your spending.

While standing around the snacks in the kitchen, a friend of mine started talking about looking into a "Mommy Special". To me, a mommy special is a bottle of good red, two advil and Thursday night TV after the kids go to bed. Apparently it's also a nip and a tuck.
Conversation about plastic surgery has become normal at my age. Also normal is that a party is about melted smelly wax and snacks... not sure which is more sad.
I could rant about loving ourselves as we are, acceptance and ridiculous social expectations. I believe all that. I believe we should love ourselves as we are. I believe we are all beautiful. Does that mean I think it's likely? Do I think radical self acceptance is attainable for most people? Sadly No..no I don't. I've been there. I've hated my skin so much I felt like I was in an alien body. We've all been inundated with society's expectations of beauty. I see thousands of images in a day of that unattainable (for most) body, and very few of reality- the stretch marks, saggy belly, the dimply bum. One is beautiful I guess and one is not.
The recovery is glossed over in these conversations. The idea of being sliced open and introducing that stress to our physical and mental bodies is minimized. The end result is all that matters.... and that scares me.
I wrote about the same idea with my hair blog, this is really just a more extreme version of that. I tell my kids all the time that being kind is more important than being pretty.... but am I really showing them that?
A very close friend of mine got implants a few years ago. I didn't understand her choice, but I didn't need to since it wasn't mine. She commented that I used to want them, and didn't I still?
I almost got them done. There was a time in my life when I had the cc amount, the Dr consult and the credit to get them. I read all I could about over vs under, lifting and recovery after etc. I had a date. But I didn't.
Now I wouldn't.
(Note- I wrote the top part of this months ago. Then I saved it, not knowing how to end it or where to go without looking like a judgemental bitch. I knew I had more to say, but wasn't sure how to say it.... I've said before that my choices aren't yours. They aren't anyone elses, and you don't have to agree with them. Just as I don't have to agree or understand yours. If you are getting offended, please go watch a cat video and know I love you no matter what you do. Unless I don't love you, then wtf are you reading this for anyways?).

This I wrote today. There are some redundancies and it doesn't always make sense strung together, but I have shit to do.

I was at a another party recently. It used to be 30th Birthday parties... now it's 40's. Lol. I vaguely recollect (through wine colored googles) a conversation about boobs, and surgery. I remember saying I didn't want any.
I remember feeling the need to defend myself, because I remember everyone looking at me like I was insane. I had to defend why I DIDN'T want plastic surgery....
That doesn't mean I think I am perfect, as by now you should know. That doesn't mean I think I am superior, or even that I have given up (maybe a little, but not enough to buy Mom jeans yet). It means I am afraid of cutting my body open and putting it through even more trauma. This old body has been through enough punishment and hatred. The last thing it needs is elective surgery. I am afraid of reacting to anesthetic and dying and leaving my children without a mother from my own vanity.  I am afraid of the explanations to my children and how that would affect how they see themselves. My daughter tells me I am beautiful- who am I to tell her she's wrong? I am mostly afraid that it would be yet another band aid solution to the greater issue of self loathing.
I have come a long way in loving myself. I still have a long way to go, but I now appreciate it's a journey. For me, likely a life long one. I have created babies, I can lift moderately heavy things and I can fit into most of my pants most of the time. I try to be kind and I own a push up bra.
I am enough. Just as I am.