It’s Time Warp Tuesday again, and this month the theme is ‘change.’
Time Warp Tuesday is hosted on the second Tuesday of the month by Kathy at Bereaved and Blessed, and the idea is to peruse your archives and select a post related to the topic to review and reflect on.
So many changes since that post, fourteen months ago; and yet, so much remains the same.
It is still hard to be where I wanted so badly to be, at times, but I’ve found so much more of myself along the way to where I am now.
I’ve written a novel; I’ve made actual goals and intend to achieve them; I’ve found new purpose and joy in every day.
I don’t wonder any more about failings in myself. Sometimes shit happens, and it’s not my fault. I’ve been able to say that for a long time, but only recently have I been able to believe it, to say it with conviction. It’s not my fault.
I’m not a bad person, and it’s much easier for me to cut myself breaks than it used to be. I can accept that I’m not perfect, I’m not going to be perfect, and it’s okay for me to admit that. It’s okay to ask for help when I need it, and it’s okay to accept help when it’s offered. That doesn’t make me less of a person, less deserving of anything. It means that I’m not trying to set myself up for failure and disappointment.
I know I can’t fix everything. I know some things can’t be fixed. But I also know that all things can be lived with.
And even though I’d forgotten this post, forgotten my vow to reclaim myself, I feel that I have done so. I am more fun, a million times more confident, and slightly more adventurous than I was a year ago. I have come far enough around the circle to be able to see the April-that-was not far ahead of me, and I know that I’ll be there again soon.
The coming of a new year has always had me hopeful…until it gets here. Every year I hope I’ll wake up and be hopeful and excited about the blank slate I have for another year of my life.
And every year it’s just the day that followed yesterday.
It’s like growing up. When you’re a kid, you think it’s like some magical switch, you turn a certain age, and bam! You feel like a responsible adult. But I still feel the same.
It’s like hair color. You find the perfect shade, and somehow expect to have to great hair you never had before. But it still has to same refusal to look magazine worthy for more than five minutes. Same hair, different color.
New Year’s Day is depressing for me. It’s the same problems I couldn’t fix last year, but all at once. Not that they don’t all interlock anyway.
I need meaning and purpose to my life, and I just haven’t found any yet. I signed up for NaBloPoMo yesterday, maybe that will give me some help. I tend to follow through a little better when I announce my plans.
When I have more I’ll announce them.
Maybe that’ll be soon.
Yesterday morning morning my best friend called me to catch up. We don’t talk often, so when we do there’s usually quite a bit of catching up. We swapped horror stories (trust me, they’re horror stories) for a while, until the conversation spiraled downward into my emotional and situational turmoil. She tried so hard to convince me of so much good, but none of it sank in. But it started to, last night. And it finished this morning.
Last night, I read an admirable post from jjiraffe, in which she posed the question, ‘Is it possible to live a life of adventure and fun once you have chosen the white picket side of the fence?’
- My whole life I feel I craved this life of a suburban home with two kids and a husband. I certainly busted my ass to be here. So why is it so hard sometimes to BE here?
While it’s undeniable I took a different path to get where I am now, I completely identify with this entire sentiment. Over and over, I’ve said that all I wanted was to be a wife and mother. I definitely busted my ass to still be in this marriage today.
And I constantly wonder where the challenge comes from.
Is it a failing in me? Was this not the right choice for me to make? Is this so hard because I’m trying to hold a grudge against my daughter for crimes she is just as much a victim of as I am?
I have turned away from answering the latter question so many times, both because I fear it to be true and because I dread it to be true. I finally realize that it isn’t true. I know I would never try to blame her for being here. The only feeling besides love that I have for this beautiful creature who hugs me around the neck when she sees me crying is a wistful longing that she should have been mine. And she is mine, albeit unconventionally, even for this community, with our 1,001 ways of babymaking.
With this loving family, how could I ever think this wasn’t the right choice to make? There is no other choice, really. Which only leaves the question of whether or not it’s a failing in myself that’s causing so much anguish.
Am I a bad person? No. I’m not a bad person. I just refuse to cut myself the same breaks that I cut everyone else. I expect perfection from myself, but I’m only human.
Am I just not meant to parent? That can’t be it, I am a great mom. And I finally believe all of my family and friends who have told me so.
Am I just someone who has too much on her shoulders, but refuses to ask for help? Yes. All the wishing in the world won’t make solutions instantly available for some problems, but I don’t want to accept that. I want my life to be the way I want it, and I want it now. Why do I criminalize myself for this? I don’t know. I can’t bring myself to accept that I can’t fix everything. I want to, so badly.
So I will set out to reclaim the April-that-was, the fun, confident, adventurous girl who always had a smile for everyone, except the jerks. And even the jerks got a smile when I was sarcastically criticizing them with really big words. Study up on your vocabulary, kids, you want to know when someone’s calling you an idiot to your face.
Let’s see how far uphill I can roll this boulder without being crushed again.