Just breathe…

I am currently sitting at my (tear stained) table, when I am supposed to be doing some lame-ass completion of keyboarding for school (hey, I am fucking typing right now, so this should count!) and instead of doing the completion for keyboarding, I am spinning in some form of painful shame spiral. It is good times, over here.

My son got his first job today. I can’t put into words how proud I am of this little human (snort, little.. he is 6’2″) He is a great student, his teachers all love him and he gets good grades; he is a nice boy and has lots of friends who really like him; he is a great athlete and frequently gets awards for volleyball (his sport of choice); he is kind and respectful; he doesn’t get into ANY trouble (worst thing he does is avoid studying to play his iPad or watch tv); Like, LEGIT, we have no problems with this boy. And now he is 15 years old, going into high school (starts in grade 10 up here in the great white north), made the senior volleyball team (we call it senior, but it is also known as Varsity), has his classes chosen to help him get on the right track for university (where he wants to go to be a teacher), and now he has a job, too. Don’t get me wrong, I am so proud of him for going out and doing this. But…. my heart is still breaking.

He was my first baby. He was the first thing I ever truly loved at first sight. The day I held him in my arms, I knew that I would do anything for him. And that has never stopped or changed. But I worry that I haven’t done well by him. I worry I haven’t spent enough time with him. I worry that I left him alone too much. I worry that he had to grow up too fast. I worry that he felt lonely when I was busy doing other things. I worry that he felt sadness because of me.

My kids had to grow up faster than most when my marriage to their biological father disintegrated around all of us (seriously, it was for the best and should have happened sooner than it did…) And they had to bounce between houses, and listen to the poison and bullshit being spewed when I wasn’t there to guard them from it. They had to grow up too fast when they were put in the position to defend their mom to the man who was supposed to protect them. They had to grow up too fast when they were told to choose between him and their step-dad (whom loves them, and they called dad). They had to grow up too fast when they were put in the position to be more mature than the asshole that the courts were forcing them to spend time with. It breaks my heart that they were ever in that position, and I wish I could have protected them from it all. But the damned judicial system thinks it knows best, and just throws a blanket rule on everyone. Thanks for that…

When all of that hell-on-earth ended, I was alone. It was me and my kids. But I was also forced into the position to provide for them on my own. So I had two jobs, which pulled me away from them more than I would have liked. And eventually, I had a new dude, and we moved in with him. And as with any new relationship, we spent a lot of time together. I NEVER ignored my kids or shuffled them off to have alone time with my boyfriend. NEVER. But it was a shift that I always worried made them sad or lonely. And then I had a new baby. They LOVE their little brother, and he finished our family puzzle. But again, new baby means that I had less time for the older two. And the oldest one likely got the least attention of them all. Fast way forward, and middle kid gets diagnosed with diabetes. Guess what happened, again? Less attention to the oldest again… he was self-sufficient and didn’t require a ton of attention. Again, my heart breaks.

Fast way forward again… and now I am going to school and kind of super busy. And to make matters worse, the last 6-12 months have been particularly trying for my relationship, and a lot of time has been spent either in tears, fighting, trying to avoid fighting, or patching things up from fighting. And my poor kids have been on the outskirts while I have been clawing my way back into the happy place that I used to be in (let me just say this; being married to an un-medicated adult with adhd is NOT easy, especially when that person has no idea that anything is wrong.. but that is for another time). And my first baby, my tall baby, my blonde baby, my sweet blue eyed boy… I fear that he got less attention than he deserved because he was older, and just did his own thing, and didn’t really demand much for attention or anything (other than his volleyball, which I NEVER missed). And my heart breaks thinking about him alone in the basement, watching tv. Even if he chose it, and even if it is normal for teenagers to hole up in their rooms… what if he didn’t want to? What if he needed me? Or wanted me? But I was too preoccupied with school or the diabetic or the youngest boy or my flailing marriage… what if he wanted me and I wasn’t there for him? What if he felt sad and lonely and I wasn’t there for him? What if he felt like he wasn’t important or a priority? Fucking heart breaking……

And now he is going to go to work, and I will see him even less. This will be his life now. I had no idea that last summer was my last whole summer with him.. going outside and watching them jump on the trampoline, or going to the park, or watching them play in the sprinkler, or watching him screw around on his skateboard, or playing with his little brother like the amazing big brother that he is…. I would have paid more attention to every detail, I would have gone to the park one more time with him, I would have hugged him tighter………. Yes I am aware that getting a job doesn’t mean he doesn’t need me anymore. But it changes things. He’s changing. He is pulling away. He is able to do most things for himself. He is like this little self-sufficient human. He needs me less. But one thing won’t change; I will NEVER need him less. I will never forget his white-blonde mohawk on his tiny little perfect shaped baby head, or the sound he made when he slept, or how scared I was the first night I had him, or the first time I fed him, or how much my heart exploded when he looked at me with those bright blue eyes the first time, or when he grabbed my finger, or his first steps, or his first word, or his first day at school, or the first time he called me mom instead of mommy, or his first volleyball game, or his first tryout, or his first girlfriend, or his first big final exam, or his first time taking a driving test… and now, his first job.

He is my first baby, my first purpose, my first real breath. I just hope he never forgets how much I love him, and how hard I always tried.

They say you never forget your first love… I absolutely won’t. My first love calls me Mom.

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Stay in your own lane….

I had a real issue this morning with road rage. I would like to say that it was directed at me, but truth is, I was shoveling it like it was my job. Everyone who was driving under the speed limit (not like a little bit, we are talking like 10km/h or more under, so don’t go getting all pissy and telling me they were just being cautious), the moron who cut me off because he apparently doesn’t know what advanced green arrows are, or the plethora of other asinine driving antics this morning just pissed me off to no end. Did I sleep well? No, but lets be real, what else is new. Was I in a bad mood when we left? No. I just got on the road and wanted to stab people.

Now, don’t get me wrong here, this post is not about traffic. Threw you off there for a second, didn’t I? It may have started with traffic, but it is delving deeper. I had a tea, had a shower and it hit me; was I mad at the drivers? No. I mean yes, I can’t fucking stand people who forget to take their heads out of their warm asses before getting behind the wheel. But my issue was more than that – it is people who refuse to stay in their own lane.

And this is where it leaves traffic…

My life is my life. Not yours. Not theirs. Not anyone else’s. It is mine. Just as other peoples lives are theirs. Not mine. I wish more people had this knowledge! If opinions and advice is sought, then by all means, two cents away. But until that point, stay in your own fucking lane. Do not judge me by my present, and for fuck sakes, don’t judge me by my past. There have been mistakes made, there have been events that shook me to my core, there have been issues that were others and were just dumped on me to fix and clean up, but I did it all. I stood on my own. I didn’t ask for help. I didn’t expect help. I didn’t take anything from anyone. I did it on my own, I did it my way, and I am still living my own life.

My life is not perfect. I was dragged into a LOT of shit by someone who shall remain nameless.. we will just call him “dickhead”. Lots of his choices were left on my shoulders, lots of his mistakes are still hovering in my background, lots of his opinions and negativity still swirl in my head. But I have my own lane now. I am no longer sharing his fucking idiot lane. I am in my lane, and he is in his. That is not to say that sometimes he tries to throw his blinker on and get back into my lane, but thats where my road rage comes in handy. I throw out a few choice expletives and speed away. Stay in your own lane, asshole.

I am now very choosy and picky about who I share my lane with. Not just anyone can share it. And if I don’t want you there, chances are good, you are well aware of my choice. I am not really all that demure (anymore.. there was a time where I was too afraid to speak my mind.. I also left that behind me, like an old busted ass broke down car). I like my life. I like where I am, and who I am here with. It may not make sense to most people, but it is my choice, my lane, and my life. So I don’t really care what anyone else thinks.

That’s not to say I am not JEALOUS AS FUCK of people who got their shit right on their first try. My god, wouldn’t it be nice to not have all the extra baggage that we have to carry around with us every day. Hell yes. But that isn’t our lane. Sometimes I want to punch people who complain about their life when they really have it so much easier than someone who’s on their second go at it. But I don’t.. cuz you know what? That is THEIR LANE! Their lane may not be riddled with (proverbial) abandoned samsonites like mine is, but still, their lane, not mine.

My husband and I have a good life. For us, it is quite charmed. For what we came from, it is a fucking fairytale. When I go to bed at night, I know I am exactly where I want to be, and with who I want to be with. There is no “what if”, no wondering, no imagining a different path (unless he was also on the path with me)… no questions at all. He is my person. He is my heart. He is my oxygen. My life isn’t perfect to you, but you know what is amazing? Your life isn’t perfect to me, either. So there, take that apple and shove it.

I might be jealous of the first try people, but unless my husband was my first try in this scenario, I wouldn’t want a do-over. I say this to him all of the time, and to anyone who asks “If you knew, would you still do it?”… absolutely. Yes. For him? I would do this over and over again if I ended up with him. I would find him, always, and choose him. Over and over. Forever. For always.

You don’t know my story, and if you do, you still won’t ever really understand it like I do. So stay in your own lane, and maybe I won’t go insane and key you.. although, maybe I will. That is the best part about road rage… its beautiful unpredictability. HAHAHAHA!

Cosmic shift, or some shit like that…

There are a few times in your life that you can sit back and just know that a giant shift is coming… some are obvious (duh, if you are about to give birth, you can pretty much expect a life changing shift in your future), before your wedding (even if you don’t show up to your wedding, everything is about to change for you), bla bla bla… I don’t think I need to go on, most people understand the concept.

Today is just like any other day – my kids are happily in their rooms doing their things, and likely mentally preparing for going back to school on Monday; my husband is sleeping soundly in our bed, preparing for another weekend at work; I am sitting in the living room happily typing away on my teal buddy, drinking my aminos and thinking about what is about to happen. Today is just like any other day, but it is different.

Monday marks a big shift in our lives – I am officially back to school as of January 8th. My kids all go back to school that day, too. But that isn’t big news. They’re excited, sure, but it is not as big as my old ass being a student again. This will be the third time in my life that I have been a college student. I have a couple other diplomas, but I am not a fan of them. I am lucky enough to have been able to be at home with my kids all these years, watching them grow, attending all of their school/sports events, being home when they are sick, spending an inordinate amount of time with my husband…. It has been nice, and it has filled my heart more than I can explain, but I felt like it was time for me to do something for ME. So back to school I go, to see if I can’t find my passion/niche.

Now, I know that there are going to be at least one or two (or a handful) of opinionated assholes who are going to think/say “welcome to the real world” and to them, here are both of my middle fingers. I may not have had normal 9-5 jobs this whole time, but I have worked. And not in the way that most stay-at-home-moms work… I have had jobs this entire time. It may not have been a “full time” job, but since when is that the only thing that equates to living in the “real world”? My life is hard, it has been harder, but it remains quite difficult and trying. My life is just as real as anyone elses, my struggles just as hard to deal with, my situation is not ideal or perfect by most peoples standards, but I have been fortunate enough to have a husband who provides well enough for our family that I can stay home and take care of my kids (one of whom has diabetes, and that shit is NOT easy to handle on a day to day basis, trust me) My life is real, it always has been real, and if you are a douchebag who is going to use the “welcome to the real world” on me, you can kindly fuck right off and keep your opinion up your ass, right beside your head.

Moving on….

I am going back to school. And sitting here, I am realizing that this is our last “do nothing” Friday. Any Friday after this will be filled with my schoolwork, exams, and eventually, work. My husband and I have been lucky – since we got together, he has had jobs with rather unorthodox shifts. At first, he worked 4-on-4-off, which gave us 4 days a week together. Right now, he only works Friday, Saturday and Sunday nights. So we have had a LOT of time together, just him and I. We generally get every Monday-Thurday together. Even when I was working, I was off at noon, so we still had every afternoon together. It has been nice. I have been spoiled. And deep down inside, it is crushing me to know that this part of us is coming to a close (unless I only get a part time job.. but only time will tell).

I understand that it is normal, it is “real life” and millions of people live this way. But I haven’t. I have had a very “unusual” 7 years of my life, and I have loved every second. I have loved being with my kids, I have loved getting so much time with my husband, I have loved packing up and leaving at a moments notice during the week, I have loved not having to take time off for my sons Childrens Hospital appointments, I have loved hugging my kids on the couch when they are sick, I have loved taking them to school every day and being there every day to pick them up, I have loved being at every one of their assemblies/craft days/class parties/sporting events….. it has been anything but “normal” and I have loved it.

I don’t graduate for a year and a half, so I know that there is more of these moments in my future, but I also know that graduation is looming, and life will shift once more. It is a shift that will be fun and I am looking forward to, but when you are used to something being one way for so long, a change like this can feel cosmic.

But it was time. When I graduate, my oldest will be starting grade 11, middle will be starting grade 9 and my little baby boy will be going in to grade 3. My husband and I are talking about things he could possibly take online to further his education/employment, so we will see where that goes. But it is time. My kids will always need me, this I know. But I also know that by the time I go off to work, they will be self sufficient enough that my presence won’t be required all of the time. It both excites and saddens me.

But time and life march on, and this time, I am part of the parade, not just a spectator.

Cracked…

I have always loved this quote. It makes you really think of your damage as less of a break and more of a glow.

I haven’t been feeling very put together lately. My levels of confidence ebb and flow like some sort of deranged asshole riptide. I am doing so much better than I used to be, but I still sometimes feel like I’ve regressed. Lately, total regression. But why?

Things are going so well for me. Truth be told, I am very stupid happy. So why? Why do I feel cracked? I know I am a bit of a self-sabotager, but I do not think even I am stupid enough to sabotage my own happiness! OR am I… fuck.

I was broken as shit for a very long time. Some days I don’t feel like I will ever get put back together. But for the most part, I feel like I am totally glued back together in a pretty decent way. I know I will never be perfect.. way too much damage for that to ever be possible. But for now, I am okay with being perfectly imperfect.

I mean, right now I am running on nearly no sleep, an increased level of stress, a slight higher level of anxiety… but that is where I usually thrive! Or maybe not so much thrive, as just exist….

Perhaps… if I am going to be all silver lining and shit, this is all just happening because the universe thinks that I need some more light, so my cracks are opening a bit to let more light in. (hahaha yeah, I heard it)

Or maybe I just need some more fucking sleep.

Something for me… 

I have wanted to do something for myself for years. Now now, don’t go getting all perverse and think I have some long running desire to pleasure myself.. I have a sex-on-a-stick husband to do that for me. You bunch of disgustingtons.

Moving on..

I have two college degrees. I hate both of them. I have long desired to go back to school and do something that sets my soul on fire. Because at the end of the day, if your soul isn’t ablaze, are you really living?

I have toyed with many many career options; some fun, some practical, some would have required I pack my family up and move 4 hours away (let me tell you, that was one of the most appealing aspects of that particular schooling). But I never really pulled the trigger on any of them. Some because of cost, some because of practicality, some because I just plain and simple feel too old to do a long term program. I am not “old” but I sure as shit am no longer a spring chicken (and thank hell for that, chickens are fucking ugly!)

I had one program picked out, had the funding all figured out, figured out scheduling for practicums and all that nonsense, and then less than two weeks later, I found myself pregnant with my youngest son. I find that more often than not, if I plan something for myself, I am met with some form of push-back from the universe, or my children. Or some heinous combination of both.

My kids are great. Lets just get that out of the way now, so I don’t get any assbags climbing up my nose because I didn’t praise them enough or properly. BUT! That being said, they are sometimes real cock-blocks (so to say, and sometimes actually literally). It is some universal bullshit blowback that when a mom decides to be something other than just a “mom” something explodes in her regular routine and throws a proverbial wrench into her plans. This can’t possibly only happen to me.. and if it does, fuck you, universe!

I realize that my life exists mostly in “murphys law” (hell, I once wrote a book and I even named that thing “In the life of Murphy”… no, it’s never been published… sure I have thought about it, dreamed about it, but again, never pulled the trigger…) But I think after this many decades of doing shit only for others, it was time to do something for me.

So, two days ago, I pulled the trigger. Application sent. Now we wait. Am I worried that I will get in? No. The prerequisites are so basic, I could have been accepted even if I had done high school like my husband did (haha sorry honey!) I wanted to start in September, because lets face it, after this many years of waiting, I didn’t want to wait for another 6 months. But alas, because of some plans we already have made for September, and the fact that I am a “ne-‘er do well” and can not acquire a student loan, I settled for January. And come hell or high water, barring any more children coming down with some form of life-threatening illness (thanks middle child…) I WILL be starting on January 8th… possibly the oldest college student known to man. Yes, I realize that is a massive exaggeration, but fuck do I feel old (thanks to the aforementioned middle child and his life threatening illness, and the fact that I actually am old…)

But this is for me. All for me. We don’t “need” the money. I don’t “need” to work. But I am fucking sick of being mom and wife, and little more. My kids will all be in school full time in the fall, and while I know my job with them will never technically end (right, mom? *wink wink*) I feel like their need for my undivided attention is beginning to dwindle. And doing school online is good – I will still be home for my middles busted ass pancreas, to take my oldest to volleyball and school dances, and to go to my youngests show and tell and special days. Oh yeah, and I will still get to spend time with my husband during the day, because his schedule only takes him away from us on Friday, Saturday and Sunday nights… yes, it is badass, I agree! So, I will get to be me, better me, and still be what everyone else needs me to be, too. And this will give me more excuses to bat my eyes and ask my husband to pick up a bit more slack around the house, and anything that keeps me from having to cook every meal is absolutely fantastic! Cuz really, fuck cooking. Guess my hubby is gonna have to learn how to cook keto, hahaha!

So anyways, this is just a very long-winded way to share my pseudo exciting news. And now you know. Carry on……

Cosmic bullshit or just a bad week?

You have heard the saying “when things start to go right is when everything will go wrong”.. or something like that – I just paraphrased. Well, welcome to my current predicament.

For years, I have trucked along, perfectly content with the complacency that my life had become. It was not boring, but it was no longer absolute chaos – and I was happy with that.

But lately, I have decided to two-fist some bulls balls and take control, and point my life in an entirely new direction. I started reading more again, I started working on my insides, I started working out every day, I started eating better again, I started focusing on the relationships I care deeply about, I started ignoring the shit and the toxic people, I decided to remove things from my life that don’t bring me joy (except my skinny clothes – they bum me out now, but one day I hope to fit in them again, which will then bring me joy), I found a group of women who are on the same path as me and lift me up on a daily basis, I started focusing my entire attention on my kids when they are around, I started digging deep with my kids to make sure they know at their core that they are total superstars, I ordered my sons CGM (continuous glucose monitor) which is going to give all of us a lot more freedom and peace of mind, I started focusing on my husband and what made me fall in love with him in the first place, I started working to make my marriage as strong as possible (it has never been weak or shaky, but I want it to be stronger than ever), I started looking into possible schooling for me, I started figuring out what I want to do with my life (for real, I feel like I am in grade 11 and trying to figure out what I want to be when I grow up.. it is DAUNTING!)… basically, to summate, I started fixing me and gluing back together the busted shards that had previously been left laying on the floor.

However, what is lining up with all of this self-improvement? Oh right, shit and chaos. I am kicking the couch and coffee table legs every time I walk by, I am dropping and spilling things, I am forgetting appointments, I am crying a lot, I am finding myself insanely impatient with my kids, I am letting bullshit from 7-10 years ago seep into my present and wreak havoc, I am losing things, I am having insane dreams that are making me feel like I haven’t slept, I am sore, I kinked my neck, I am having stomach issues, I am just all around feeling like a worthless piece of crap that isn’t worthy of anything. I am letting every poisonous bullshit garbage thing anyone has ever said to me settle in my brain and take up permanent residence. It is not fun.

So am I just having a bad week? Or is the universe shitting on my parade, like some bastard vengeful pigeon, because I am finally on the right path. I am finally done with all of the drama and bullshit and hurt and pain and anger and vengeance… is it a bad day? Or is it the start of a great life?

I have no fucking idea! I have a lot of hurt in my past. I have been damaged to the point of pieces of me being obliterated and lost forever. I know I am not perfect. I know I will always be broken. I know that I will always have trust issues and I know that there will always be people I never quite fully let (back) in. And that is okay. That is just who I am. But I am also loving and caring and kind and compassionate and thoughtful and smart and funny and strong and feisty and stubborn and generous and (somewhat) forgiving. So maybe focusing on all of the good instead of letting the past bad hurt me is creating some ruffles in the universe. Maybe I finally blasted my way off of the path I didn’t want to be on, and am finally on the one that I always hoped I would find.

Whatever is happening, I am just gonna keep pushing. I am not going to let some minor setbacks in my life alter where I know I want to go. And if there are people in my life who enjoyed the chaos more, and don’t think I can actually pull this shit off… may I introduce to you the door. Step out and close it behind you. Because I am hard enough on myself. I don’t need any more outside help with that. I am not here to entertain people with my life. I am over that shit. It is behind me, and the spectators should be, too. There are a few people who come to mind while talking about this.. and they played a very big part in my “worthless” campaign over the last few days. Those people are as good as dead to me now. I will still smile and be polite, but they are 100% behind me and on the other side of my wall now. And in my life, there is exactly one person who ever came back after being shunned – and I married him. I assure you no one else will ever make that sort of a comeback.

So. Once again… bad day or a cosmic shitfest? I don’t know. But I intend on finding out. But in the meantime, if I could just stop kicking shit, that would be great. My toes are so sore.

It’s raining..

And there is snow in the forecast. Not in the far-off forecast, like one would hope, but in the immediate future.

I don’t have shoes. I mean, I have shoes, I am not a hobbit. But my shoes are 6 years old and make my toes feel like a steamroller has run them over and then dragged them over jagged rocks. It isn’t pleasant. I am not a big shoe buyer. I don’t like buying shit for myself (unless it is hoodies, but shut your mouth, they’re an investment.. at least that’s what I tell myself, as many/most of them have yet to ever see the light of day.. again, shut your mouth)

I buy flip flops every spring. Love flip flops. I would wear them all year long if I could, which leads me to believe I was supposed to live on a warmer piece of this earth than I do. But I digress – northern Alberta has its perks. Give me a second and I am sure I can come up with something… but I’ve strayed.

Shoes. I have been putting off buying my shoes, which according to crap I have been seeing on IG and FB, apparently I chose a trendy shoe without even realizing it. Go me. Ahead of the trends. But since I haven’t bought them yet (been putting it off for months) now I will just appear to be another lemming. Sigh. And now my feet will be frozen, and likely filthy, due to the impending snow shit and the lack of coverage I have for my freshly pedicured feet.

So when someone says “don’t put off til tomorrow what you can do today” heed it! Your feet will thank you.

Manolo vs Nike…..

I have been on quite the Sex and the City binge the last few weeks. I will admit, it is a guilty indulgence of mine. There are a couple series that I will watch – start to finish – SATC and Friends top the list. And in a way, both of these shows apply to this post. And, ironically, both take place in New York, which is a place I have always always wanted to visit. But that little tidbit has nothing to do with anything but a snipit of me. I digress… and here we go…

Both tv shows are filled with beautiful people experiencing normal everyday situations (if normal everyday situations include insane apartments, overpriced shoes and more sex than most people have in their entire life).

They’re filled with Manolo Blahnik, Ralph Lauren, Gucci and Prada. Sex in public bathrooms, blow jobs in taxis, everyone is beautiful and no one seems to ever work. A wonderful life that would be, if it were true for everyone!

The women in SATC have amazing clothes, amazing jobs, amazing apartments, and their shoes… OMG! I will be the first to admit, I am not big on shoes. I own 1 pair of sneakers, 1 pair of runners and 3 pairs of flip flops. PERIOD. That is honestly it. The most expensive shoes I own are my Nikes – and while I do not have a problem with that, sometimes I wish that I were a little different. I would love to have a little stash of great clothes, amazing shoes, expensive lingerie.. But that just isn’t me. If I don’t have on a hoodie and jeans, I feel like an impostor in my own life! I have had the same sort of wardrobe for years and years.. It is who I am. I am a jeans and hoodie kind of girl. Whether I am wearing flip flops or sneakers is all dependent on the weather.

I enjoy my jeans and my hoodies, but I have started propping my closet up with some sweaters… trying to fancy it up. Seriously. Sweaters are fancy. Oh jennie… that is lame. So I suppose for the time being, I will just watch these shows and lust after the amazing stuff they wear on their bodies and their feet.. cuz let’s be serious, if I wore that shit, my ankles would shatter.

And I don’t care who you are, shattered ankles fit into Nikes better than Manolo’s. Just saying….

 

Vulnerable… 

Is it worth it to be vulnerable? To let your walls down and let someone in? To allow the opportunity for total heart shattering annihilation? I guess it is a different answer for everyone. 

Some will say “yes. Because feeling and giving love is the single greatest gift you’re ever given”. 

Some will say “it is better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all”. 

Some will say “self preservation is where it’s at”. 

Some will say “fuck no. Never love, never hurt”. 

I honestly can’t say which group I fall into. 

I’m a big pusher. I push people, especially when I sense that I’m about to ache. I don’t tend to allow people in enough to hurt me. I’m very much into self preservation. Guard your heart. Yes sir. 

And yet I let someone in farther than I’ve ever let anyone before. And it happened fast. It was just supposed to be some fun to have in a fragile time in my life. It was never supposed to turn into a kid, marriage and life. Yet, here we are. Heart all sorts of unguarded and wondering how I ever lived without this person beside me. 

That’s not to say I’m not still guarded in some aspect. Not still unsure. Not still terrified. Not still pushing. Is it healthy? Maybe not. But maybe it’s what I have to do. 

I worry on a daily basis that he will see through the cracks, I’ll be exposed, and he will bail. Not because he’s a piece of shit and wouldn’t fight. But because I have such low self worth, that I almost judge him for choosing me in the first place. It’s not on him. It’s 100% me.. As cliché as it is, it’s not him, it’s me. 

Maybe it will go away one day, but I doubt it. I don’t think I will ever feel valuable or worthy (worthy of what you may ask?Sky’s the limit as far as examples are concerned)

After years and years and years (let’s just call it an even 30) of belittling, cutting down, devaluing, insulting, hurting, ignoring, name calling, and all sorts of other lovely happenings.. I’m a bit bruised. Or to be completely honest, it broke me. Bad. How can you put back the pieces when lots of them were obliterated and no longer exist?

I’ve never been confident. I’ve never really felt like “I’m not half bad”. And I’ve always wondered why anyone would choose me when there’s 7 billion people in the world. 

So because of that, and numerous other damaged mentalities, I just don’t really make myself vulnerable. I lock down the one thing that should be so easy for me to hand over to someone. Especially easy to hand to someone who’s vowed to love me forever. So why can’t I? 

Why can’t I believe when he, or someone else, says they love me? Why can’t I believe when I’m told I’m special? Why can’t I believe when someone tells me I’m important? Why can’t I believe when I’m told I’m missed? Why can’t I believe when I’m told I’m valued? 

Have I locked my heart up so tightly that I can’t even allow myself to believe those who are closest to me? The precious few I’ve actually allowed in? Or have I really ever actually allowed them in? 

I don’t like being vulnerable. I despise crying, and do it as little as is necessary, and will not cry in front of people if at all avoidable. I am not a big hugger, and only do it to few people (my kids obviously excluded from this group, because I will always hug them!) I don’t like talking about my feelings; instead, I bottle them up until I forget, and then they come screaming out at some unpredictable moment (much better.. Or something) 

I push. I guard. I have deep seeded trust issues. Honestly, if someone feels they have no value, can they ever truly be vulnerable? I honestly don’t think so. So where does that leave me? 

Butterflies.. 

I’ve been with my husband for 6 years. We both came from pretty heinous relationships that left us battered and bruised in our own unique and awful ways. He bounced back a lot quicker than me. The better part of a decade with him, and I still doubt. Doubt. All the doubt. All. The. Time. 

I don’t doubt him. He’s solid. He’s adorable. He’s funny. He’s smart. He’s charming. He can get pretty much anything he wants. 

Then there’s me. Why. Why me. I’m a broken taped-up mess of a shell of a human. I am still attempting to put back together the pieces of my shattered existence. Yet he claims I give him butterflies. 

Maybe before. I was more carefree, even in spite of the hell my life had become. I smiled. I laughed. I brushed it off and carried on. I was cute and spunky and held my shit together with the finest bandaids a girl could find. 

Not now. I feel like I break more with each passing year. I’m repugnant in comparison. I am anxious and worry, I don’t sleep, I am in constant fear of something going wrong, I express my concerns (not complain, I don’t do that). I have a medial issue that has made me a tired, emotional, anxious, dry skinned, iron deficient blob. How fucking hot. And score for him. 

Before, it used to be all mushy phone calls, Cologne sprayed tshirts to sleep in when he is gone, hundreds of texts just to say I love you, the insane need to talk and hear my voice, “kiss me now” moments, stolen looks, secret tongue meanings (don’t be gross) and hundreds of other things that made us, us. 

And now we are partners in this life business. Tv is watched in bed with a quick “good night” thrown in without taking an eye off the screen, texts are shorter and not fun, I love you’s are in short supply (and more often than not, I feel are just something to say out of routine), kisses are next to non-existent, conversations revolve around work and kids and groceries and bills…. 

So what happens when the butterflies die? When the thing that made us, us, becomes nothing but a distant memory and something that requires too much work with all the other shit we have going on? What happens when the flitty tummy feelings that made this feel special and exciting just turns to a regular complacency and routine? 

We have a lot going on, I’m not going to lie… But I’m not old and dead yet.. I don’t want to give up on the butterflies. One, because it’s the happiest I’ve ever been. And two, because once they’re gone, the facade will erase and all that will remain is my broken shell. And who the hell wants that? 

Fucking butterflies.