Letting Go

I came across this in the most unlikely place but it was exactly what I needed to hear.

LETTING GO TAKES LOVE

To let go does not mean to stop caring,
it means I can't do it for someone else.
To let go is not to cut myself off,
it's the realization I can't control another.
To let go is not to enable,
but allow learning from natural consequences.
To let go is to admit powerlessness, which means
the outcome is not in my hands.
To let go is not to try to change or blame another,
it's to make the most of myself.
To let go is not to care for,
but to care about.
To let go is not to fix,
but to be supportive.
To let go is not to judge,
but to allow another to be a human being.
To let go is not to be in the middle arranging all the outcomes,
but to allow others to affect their destinies.
To let go is not to be protective,
it's to permit another to face reality.
To let go is not to deny,
but to accept.
To let go is not to nag, scold or argue,
but instead to search out my own shortcomings and correct them.
To let go is not to adjust everything to my desires,
but to take each day as it comes and cherish myself in it.
To let go is not to criticize or regulate anybody,
but to try to become what I dream I can be.
To let go is not to regret the past,
but to grow and live for the future.

To let go is to fear less and love more

Cloudy

It is gray and cloudy today for the first time in a very long time. It is oddly comforting to me, the dark brooding sky that rumbles occasionally letting go and drops spill from above. It seems to mirror the mood I have harbored all summer long. Despite the blue skies and sunshine my petulant mood just seems to cloud everything to a dull overcast finish.

I have been so naive - What I know now is happiness is NOT ALWAYS simply a choice - or at least there are circumstance where choosing happiness is just not as simple as it is stated. Sometimes choosing happiness is as difficult as fighting against a current dragging you the other way. Sometimes it is just too much. Too much for one heart to hold. And I see why people give up, become still and stop fighting.

Too much loss, too much to bear, that I wonder how I can continue like this. Yet everyday I do, somehow, manage to get up and put one foot in front of the other. Going through the motions, but really just sleepwalking through life. I even manage to sometimes distract myself just long enough to enjoy the moments, but there lurking in the background is the pull tugging me back, reminding me that this year summer just didn't hold the same joy it normally does.

I don't know that it has ever been this bad. I don't know if my compulsion to run has EVER been this strong. Do you ever just wish for a do over? I just want to start all over. Like OK I see how much I've fucked this up can I just select to restart the game? I know it isn't right to throw the baby out with the bath water, but that is exactly what feels so attractive. Just to walk away from everything.

Time heals all wounds? I'm not so sure, I think time tends to allow our minds to forget. And forget we do until the next time.

Eventually Everyone Leaves

It seemed so normal sitting in the shade sipping iced tea. I largely just enjoyed the time in the shade on a perfect summer day. For a brief moment I allowed my mind to process how right this all seemed and agreed it felt good not to be so distant and brooding. To allow her in. It didn't really occur to me to remember all of the times she's hurt me and let me down. It's funny, just like anything that is painful, in order to protect ourself from it we forget just how much it hurts.

Of course if I let myself, I could have done what I normally do and just closed down. Kept her at a distance and not let her in. Protecting my heart from the next time she leaves. But the truth is whether I kept myself closed or not, it hurts all the same when she disappears. And she did. Less than a week later, one day, life was just too much and she did what she always does which is to shut off the outside world until she deemed it safe for her again. And there I was left to take care of canceling our plans and rearranging life - left to wait it out until the storm in her world passed.

I am struggling with this lately as I have also just watched two of my very best friends both leave, and a third teetering on the brink of going away. Most of this is geographical, but also emotionally I've had to say good bye for reasons beyond just a change in their physical location.

This got me thinking about a lot of the relationships I have had in my life over the years: they have all ended. I can't think of one relationship that I have maintained over the course of my life. At one point or another, sometimes for good reasons, and sometimes it has been just circumstantial, but they have all gone away. And unlike my Mother who pops back in after weeks on no contact, just as if nothing is or has been wrong, people who go away, tend to stay away.

It has not gone unnoticed by me that there is something here that I must need to learn. Beyond why it seems I can't maintain lifetime relationships, and that like shoes they just seem to wear out or go out of fashion and get replaced. No, more like how to not be like my Mother and go away when life is hard. How to gracefully deal with difficulties without shutting out the world. But when you learn to be scared that eventually everyone leaves... how do you trust and not hold everyone at arms length?

Good-Bye

I keep trying to think of a good reason to do anything other than what was requested. As if somehow I could choose to have this all be different. The truth is the time for making another choice was long ago and I'm so sorry..... I leapt in with reckless abandon one too many times, having too much trust in what is meant to be will be, and now the consequence is just what it is. I'm not sorry I made the choices I made, just sorry that the consequences are what they are. It is sad, but I believe it is right to just let go. I will miss you but I'm not sure my selfish desire to keep you as my friend supersedes his wish to have me just go away.

I wish it were different in so many ways....

Boundries

The truth is life is messy and complicated. Sometimes we cross the line. We make mistakes. We step on each other's toes. We let people in and sometimes we hurt and we get hurt. And we think, if only we had better boundaries.

The thing about boundaries is we create them in an effort to protect ourselves, but mostly, they just serve to isolate us. We hold ourselves apart, at a distance, never being completely open and honest with those around us, because it is a risk. But if we never let anyone in, as safe as that feels, we never have the benefit of someone knowing us. We never benefit from trusting someone with our secrets. We don't allow ourselves the opportunity to be understood. Yes, intimacy is difficult. Because when we do let others in, inevitably, they let us down, they misunderstand and even on occasion they disappoint us. But to never let anyone in, well, then we would be missing out on one of the true gifts in life: relationships. Deep, meaningful relationships.

Boundaries, some at least, can serve a purpose. After all, we should not let everyone in all the time, that would just be plain foolish. But carefully crafted they must be for we would not want to build fences that keep everyone out. There are no absolutes. Life cannot be clean and tidy all the time. And the minute you start believing you are immune from the mess, that is when you will be given just the lesson to learn: Life is messy.

Addiction

Reading a new book called Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gillbert. Absolutely LOVING it. As in I am devouring each and every word, absolutely gulping them down like a tall glass of water. My head tilted back, eyes closed, trickles of water running out of the corner of my mouth and down my face.... not wanting to waste, not wanting to finish with out savoring, but can't quite slow down either. Yeah, it's THAT GOOD! Here is one excerpt that I am addicted to (no pun intended):

"Addiction is the hallmark of every infatuation-based love story, It all begins when the object of your adoration bestows upon you a heady, hallucinogenic dose of something you never ever dared to admit you wanted - an emotional speedball, perhaps, of thunderous love and roiling excitement. Soon you start craving that intense attention, with the hungry obsession of any junkie. When the drug is withheld, you promptly turn sick, crazy and depleted (not to mention resentful of the dealer who encouraged this addiction in the first place but who now refuses to pony up the good stuff anymore - despite the fact that you know he has it hidden somewhere, goddamn it, because he used to give it to you for free). Next stage finds you skinny and shaking in the corner, certain only that you would sell your soul or rob your neighbors just to have that thing even one more time. Meanwhile, the object of your adoration has now become repulsed by you. He looks at you like you're someone he's never met before, much less someone he once loved with high passion. The irony is, you can hardy blame him. I mean, check yourself out. You're a pathetic mess, unrecognizable even in your own eyes.
So that's it. You have reached infatuation's final destination - the complete and merciless devaluation of self."

Oh boy....

I imagine sitting in a room. A fan slowly whirling above me and the circle of faceless people. I stand and say:
"Hello." and I state my name "I am an addict"
The group of faceless strangers reply back, "Hello..."

Maybe I have always intrinsically understood I was prone to addiction. Afraid always of needing anything. But somehow, I let myself want this. Didn't even understand that I wanted it let alone that I could come to crave and need it. Now fighting that feeling of loneliness that comes when the high wears off.....

Which brings me to one of her excerpts about loneliness. When she finds herself dealing with loneliness she tells herself in absolute resolve (that I am so jealous of):

"So be lonely, learn your way around loneliness. Make a map of it. Sit with it, for once in your life. Welcome to the human experience. But never again use another person's body or emotions as a scratching post for you own unfulfilled yearnings."

Oh my f-word-ing Gad! (Opps, I apologize... lordy, should probably not be so profane... especially when the book is about gaining spiritual insight). But is that not beautifully, beautifully stated? Yeah... goosebumps.

You can have it all, but you can't have it all at once.

I get little glimmers where everything seems to fall into place. It doesn't all get done, but everything that needs to be done, seems do-able. It's not absolutely perfect, but it is perfectly in place, where it needs to be. Where it is just second nature to not sweat the small stuff.

The Fairytale

Have you ever thought your life should end up like a movie? Say Pretty Woman? Well, maybe not Pretty Woman, because how many of us dream of being hookers falling for a rich john (not sure why that happens to be my twisted fairytale, but it seems fitting). OK, substitute some other, more appropriate, hopelessly romantic story where "Prince Charming" swoops in, they fall madly in love with each other, he sweeps her (who is almost always less than perfect in circumstance, but perfect in demeanor) off her feet in the most incredibly romantic way, and saves her from her poor, pathetic life?

So maybe we don't buy this in exactly the same way we did when we were seven, because well, how sad would it be to believe we are not whole or complete alone and that we must be saved by some swooning man in order to be happy? I digress... But do you think deep down some people maintain a belief in fairy tale true love long into adulthood? Do we hope for the perfect courtship and happily ever after? Is this illusion stored in the back of our minds, in our subconscious where we keep all the ideals of our lives, tucked away safely like mementos in a hope chest?

I think I have always believed in this fantasy to some extent. Not completely, but enough that this impractical expectation has colored how successful I believe a relationship is. I can't quite bring myself to part with this, even though over time and circumstance, I've long outgrown such silly ideas. If it isn't "just how it should be", then maybe it isn't the "Fairy Tale", and maybe it isn't meant to be.

The reality is, we end up in relationships where we don't live happily ever after. We work everyday, the effort being harder and more frustrating than digging a hole on the shore while the waves come to undo what we have done again and again. We struggle, we try different solutions, we compromise, we settle and we make deals we thought we'd never make. In attempts to find intimacy we try to work through misunderstandings and being better understood. We try, and we try again, even when we don't find what we are looking for. We seek to comprehend things that are beyond our perception. We give and give and give some more, and what we get in return isn't quit what we hoped for. Sometimes, we even let go of the things we cherish the most in hopes that we will find something better on the other side, only to be disappointed and resentful when we don't get what we need. And sometimes we fail, ultimately just wanting to quit and walk away.

It's not to say that it is all bad, these relationships. Lots of time it is so right and perfect in the moment you can't help but stop and laugh at the little guy on your shoulder who tells you that it shouldn't be this hard and you are making a HUGE mistake to keep trying. Sometime you have that precious feeling of "he gets me". You have that moment of simpatico. Often it is a look, a touch, and things are just good. The arms around you feel so right, the sustenance they provide is comforting right down to your bones. At these times, I just close my eyes and smile. Breathe. Take in the moment. Enjoy. Because unlike the fairy tales, it doesn't end here. Everyone doesn't live happily ever after. Life goes on with more struggles, and more moments of bliss. We just hope that overall the bliss outweighs the struggles.

But is the ideal: Once we conquer the struggle, we should live in eternal bliss, while ever elusive, keeping us from being content and satisfied? That: Prince Charming should be perfect in every way and complete us so entirely, making us wonder if there is someone more fulfilling out there for us? Do we put way too much emphasis on the "fairy tale" romance, therefore never letting ourself believe that things are gratifying, let alone good enough? Do we question a relationship's value by questioning "Should it really be this hard?"

The truth is, as nice as our fantasies can be, nothing of value comes easy. The struggle between good and evil can be equated to the fact that we find greater worth in that which we must fight for. Though it is never perfect, the progress we make helps us to be more satisfied together. There is no dragon to slay (unless you count his stubborn ways), there is no witch to trick (unless you consider my less than nice demeanor) and no one was locked in the attic waiting to be rescued (unless you reflect on the ways we help each other save ourselves time and again). We don't get the fairy tale ending kiss and the happily forever after fading into the sunset. Instead, each day we get to wake up next to each other, and for good and bad, we have been given the promise of one more day together. Because the only part of happy ever I find that works is: the after. That after all is said and done, we continue to come back to each other. Again, hoping to have happiness even after all.

Home and Hearth

Sometimes when I have nothing going on up there in this mind of mine, I imagine what it would be like to win the lottery. First of all the irony here is that in order to win, I must play, which I don't. So what are the chances? Yeah: zero, zip, zilch! But a girl should dream.....

First, I imagine what it would be like to buy any house in any area I want. A house on a lake would be what I really want. Not big, but you know, big enough. I want everyone to have a space they call their very own. I want my OWN studio. A place that is all mine for whatever I am currently into. I want my land to be enough that we can expand (build an additional house someday or ???). The interior (or things) wouldn't be much different than they are now. I don't think I would suddenly change to expensive taste. I guess what is telling here is that I really don't want anything that I can't attain without winning the lottery. Maybe that's why I don't play.

OK, but if I did and I did win. One thing I would do that I really couldn't do unless I won: I would pay off everyone's ( my peeps) mortgage. I want this for everyone around me: A place all theirs that they don't have to report to "The Man" to have.

I'm not sure what else I would so. I think I would travel, not sure if I would quit work, but I would probably make a different choice about what I do and how much I do it. I'm not sure why I even feel compelled to write this except that I think it says something about me that the most important thing to me is home. When I am most happy is when I am nesting.

The Alaskan and I have been working very steadily around the house lately. Just about every day we do something that improves the house or our surroundings. And I LOVE it. Of all the things that happen in a day, it is this that makes me feel like I have accomplished something. And it is very indicative of everything around me. I like to have a steady stream of work that has purpose and direction. If things are hard, we have too many projects going in too many directions, I wonder if we will ever get it all done. Everything feels overwhelming, including the little things. I am liable to pull my hair out and be miserable. And we all know, when I am unhappy, it spreads like the worst plague ever!

And then I breathe. Learning that this house and all it entails is a process and it is never all done, has flowed into other aspects of my life as well. Don't sweat the small stuff, right? You know like the weeds that are growing on the side of the house? Yeah, I'll get to them. And I know when I do that, in time they will grow back and I will have to pull them again. Yes, kind of like real life. Sometimes it can be frustrating to feel like there is just so much to do or to keep doing the same things over and over again. I just breathe. Put one foot in front of the other. and know it won't always feel like this.

I find it helps to have goals and direction. Helps to keep the focus. My goals, my direction, whether I win the lottery or not, I hope someday to sip my coffee from a place that is mine all mine with a view like this:

Balloons - A Lesson in Letting Go

How do you do it? How did you just let go?

Teach me this lesson.

When the kidlets were young they loved balloons. Anytime they were presented with an opportunity to have one of their own, they eagerly grasped the string in their chubby digits, not letting go for anything. They would drag them home to their rooms to keep. Always these balloons were soon forgotten until, while cleaning, I happened upon the sad deflated carcass behind some piece of furniture, hovering only slightly above the ground, small and wilted, waiting to be popped and thrown away. It seemed hard to believe something once so full and vibrant, joyful, bouncing at the end of its string would become so faded, dusty and even wrinkly to touch.

On one occasion I became determined not to have this big bright ball bouncing off the ceiling of the car on our long trip home. Of course reasoning with DQ that her balloon made it hard for me to see out the back window of the car, was futile, but remembering a book we had read a few nights before, I came up with a quick plan.

"Let's send the balloon up to the baby angels."

She was, of course, reluctant to let go of her balloon.

"Before we take this home, where it will fall, lets let it fly and let the Baby Angels enjoy it too! Image how excited they will be to have this balloon!"

She smiled and I knew I had her.... We counted together and slowly her little fingers opened and the balloon drifted from her hand up into the sky. We watched it until we could no longer make out the dot in the sky.

Sometimes we don't want to let go, but we need to. Our fingers are grasped tightly around the string, afraid to even loosen, fearing it will slip away. Hoping that by holding tight it will be forever ours. But today, I want to remember a light, bright thing that in its moment brought happiness.... not keep it until it becomes sad and wilted, long past it pleasure, and just done being what it once was.

So I am closing my eyes, taking one last look, counting to myself, and against my childish nature of wanting to keep this, I'm gonna let this fly away.

Rocks

Sometimes I view this blog as a way to let go of what burdens me. The heavy rocks we carry around that weigh us down, and unless we figure out how to let them go, they will eventually break us. So I put my rocks here. OK, not always. I admit sometimes this blog is all fun and games.

But sometimes it is little pieces of my heart I put here.

I label my post.... spill my guts.... and then heftily toss it out into cyber space. Let go. Let God.

And I admit I do occasionally feel lighter having done this.

Of course there are the rocks I have yet to learn how to let go of. Sometimes I am just not ready to let go or afraid.... Those are tucked safely in my pocket. I reach in and hold it, feeling it, rubbing it, trying to define it and make sense of it. Sometimes I take it out wanting to let it go, but just not quite able to.... yet. But every rock has its day.

Mostly, when I look back at what I've written, I feel like I've left a trail of stones on my journey through the woods, that tell who I am, where I've been, who I've become, what I have learned.

32.... Now What?

Freaking Years Old!

How the Hell did that happen? It seems like just yesterday when I thought 30 was way old. And then I turned 30 and I think I thought time would just stop there. No such luck! So here I am 32.... and I have to ask.... now what? For as long as I can remember, we had age milestones that we looked towards. When I'm 18... when I'm 21... when I'm 30.... but once those have come (and gone), then what?

I think I mostly feel good about where I am at. Glad to be older. Thankful to be wiser. I don't get the patronizing tone of 'When your older, you'll understand' bullshit. I no longer find myself wishing to be older/wiser/better/different. I know that I am right where I need to be. I can still doubt myself at times, but I find more and more that I'm not unsure of myself as much as I once was. Navigating the terrain in front of me with the opinions of other people as my map and light never got me anywhere, accept further lost and stuck. Why it was that I learned to trust others more than I trusted my own inner voice, is hard to say. But I did.

Now I am trying to navigate my own path. It was like cresting the hill and now the view is different.

I just am who I am. Where I once struggled to be the best I could be, I am content that I am not perfect. I like myself. Imperfections and all. When I was younger, I worried people wouldn't like me, but the older I get I realize people love me for who I am, and it is better that they love for for who I am then who I am not. Sounds so cliché, but I think I get this more now than I ever have in the past. So many times I have found myself searching for the approval of others, when really the best thing I have found is my own approval of myself.

So to answer my own question... now what? Well, I don't know. But what I do know... the view looks good.

Plays Well With Others

Interacting in larger groups: not something I do well. I have the social skills of a gnat. Well, actually, I should pick another animal: one who likes to stay in the corner and "watch" others interact, not a bug that is relentless in fling around your head!

When I found myself 30, in the singles scene for the first time in my adult life, I thought the bars would be the place to be. But often (OK, almost always) I am out of my element. Sure, I like the J&C in my hand and the music playing. It's the whole interacting with people I don't know thing that is hard... I have really never been good at this, I guess. I can talk to people one on one. And if I know you well, I can talk for hours. But if I don't know you, I am quiet and reserved. And apparently stand-offish. It probably even appears that I am not having a good time. Not necessarily true, but certainly I can see why one might observe that. Yet, I try to get along and go along, but I have all too often ended up standing against the wall wondering why I do this. Don't get me wrong: give me a few drinks and I like to dance and can even let go of enough to have some fun. But carrying on a conversation with people I barely know: not so fun.

But I don't think this is about the bar, or even drinking. I think for far too many years when I was young and married we stuck together and alone. Socially, I ONLY interacted with him, or with a few close girlfriends, but almost always one on one. I'm just not good at the party scene because I have never really done it. And, also, I think I just don't do well in crowds. Too many people + too close together = anxiety. I prefer more intimate social situations. If there are more than a few people, or people I don't know, I fall very easily into the "Watcher" or "Listener". I don't always contribute, but this doesn't mean I am not enjoying myself. I just means I'm not as comfortable to talk or share in these situations. I prefer to sit back and listen. No harm on foul right? Yeah until you are the only one not talking. Then people wonder what the hell is wrong with you. Which is only a little better than what those who know me think.

Having friends who LOVE the bar scene (and I might add are very strong in this social situation) they seem perplexed by my shyness. This not talking is, well, not normal, because they know what a "Chatty Cathy" I can be. And since I am so quiet, I appear to not be OK. I HATE this! I get the: "Are you ok?" When I am fine. Just sitting back assessing, watching. AND, quite frankly, TRYING to learn how this is done. Silly to be 30 (something) and still trying to figure this out!

OK, maybe I'm a little hard on myself here, but what occurs to me is that I worry if people will like me. And in these situations, I play it really safe, and keep quite. Best to say nothing at all than to look like an ass. And apparently looking like a socially inept dufus is the better alternative?

Break it

And this time make sure you break it good..... break it hard.......

Into a million little pieces, so be it.

So I remember.... so I will let this go.... so I will move on.

Go ahead, break my heart..... please.....

The Measure of a Man

The X has a very "special" relationship with his mother. It is an on going joke that she is his Wother (Wife/Mother). She cooks for him, cleans his house, does his laundry. Recently while we were chatting about his recent relationship ending, we talked about the "wother" effect. I told him, "It was very hard while we were married to compete with your relationship with your Mother. No one could ever take care of you as good as she could." It was frustrating, to say the least, that she felt this was a women role. And when I didn't do this good enough, she stepped in.

I know that many men are "mamma's boys" and having a son of my own I hope I have a good bond with my son. But I DON'T want to "take care" of him for the rest of his life. I want him to be a good husband and father someday. I hope to teach him to take care of himself and one step further, to "man up" and take care of the women in his life. Somehow as women we get something from taking care of people, after all it is our role as Mothers to take care of our children. But the problem is we sometime forget that our job is to also teach our children to take care of themselves. Even though we CAN do it for them, it is best to stand back and let them do it for themselves. Now, don't get me wrong, the X can certainly take care of himself. He does well for himself professionally, he can cook, do laundry, take care of his house and kids. The problem is he LETS his mother do these things because, well, she will. And for me, standing back and looking at this dynamic all of these years later, I know that I didn't want a man that needed to be taken care of. I wanted a partner. Women were not put on this earth to take care of you. It was my hope that WE would take care of each other. Hence, why he is the X.

In my opinion (and of course just like assholes everyone has one) the measure of a man is getting to the place where you don't LET people take care of you when you don't need it, just because they will. It feels incredibly lazy and selfish.

The true measure of a man is a son who says "Mom, I can do this. You sit down. After all, all the years you spent taking care of me, let me take care of you." And if this were me, I would know I taught my son well.

Because as Mother's, Wives, Caretakers it is nice to be taken care of sometimes too.

Little Miss Understood

This is frequently how it ends for me. I try to articulate what it is in my head, the A connecting to the B which connects to the C. But most people don't get it. They don't see what I understand. They misunderstand what I try to communicate.

Sometimes I am angry on the outside, but really on the inside I am hurt.

Sometimes I appear to be bold and brave, but on the inside I am terrified.

Sometimes I will push you away when I am really looking for reassurance.

Do I over analyze everything..... yes. It is a fear of being misunderstood that causes me to get it strait in my head so that I can explain. When I am trying to "get it strait" I work through it over and over again.

But I am not always clear, not always able to figure out what is going on for me quickly. I am running in circles chasing my tail trying desperately to understand myself.

When I trust people I let them in. Sometimes in this process of trying to figure myself out, I am vulnerable. Trying to hold on to my self worth with all I've got. But I am so susceptible to other people's opinions of me. It is hard for me to take stock in who I am when I hear things buzzing around in my head. And if I try to talk through it and I get confused and people don't seem to understand, I think my tendency is to undo what I did, take it back, make it right for them.

I wish I could let go completely of everything I know and start with a fresh canvas and repaint who I am, who I want to be. But even if this was possible, I would lose history.

Who am I? Who do I want to be? I'm not sure I know. But I don't think I want to be me anymore.

So it is no wonder that I am misunderstood.

And You....

I can remember being huddled in the corner of their bedroom, they were fighting in the hallway, my only route of escape. Things were being thrown and she was screaming at him. That really wasn't all that unusual, but his anger was. She was frequently out of control, but he usually kept his calm, very infrequently loosing his temper. But when he did.... He was yelling and knocking things off tables. Things crashed around me and I covered my ears, crying, afraid I would be found. She backed into the room where I was trying to make my self invisible. He followed her into the bedroom where he kept on her until she was backed into the same corner where I was kneeling. I'll never forget the look in his eye. He was pointing at her and yelling, his face getting closer and closer to her, spit flying out of his mouth. I was afraid of him. This fight had nothing to do with me. It was between them. It was there issues, and they had many. I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Caught in the storm. And as happens when anger and frustration boils over, who ever is in the path tends to get some of the fury. Even when his anger was directed specifically towards my Mom, I was terrified that he would turn to me and say "And you...."

My parents did the best they could. They weren't perfect. Often far from it. So many things are forgivable, after all, I made it to be a fairly competent, functioning adult. But there is one thing my parents failed me in, and that continues to plague me to this day. Their inability to convince me that I was lovable and that no matter what mistakes I made, or what bad choices or trouble I got into, they would love me. NO MATTER WHAT. I frequently felt like I was bad. That I was a disappointment. That I was a mistake, unwanted and only tolerated. That there was no redeeming qualities I possessed, that made me a good daughter in their eyes. I was always reminded of my shortcomings and can't remember being praised for my achievements or even celebrated for who I was. The older I got, the more often I was reminded of everything that was bad about me. On occasion I was shown off to other people, BUT NEVER did my Mom or Dad tell me that I was special, loved or a good girl. My parents never stood behind me, took my side or defended me. It was always my fault.

So I grew up believing that I was not good, likable or even worthy. As an adult, I would develop relationships where I would get a glimpse of these things. People seemed to like me, and when they liked me, it stirred a desire in me. I would gain some feelings of being likable and even worthy. Often times I would find myself becoming closer to these people emotionally, craving this acceptance. And then something, as it often does in relationships, would happen (there would be a difficult thing, a disagreement or even a differing of opinion) and I would know that I did something wrong and that I was no longer worthy. It doesn't matter how good I had been or how hard I tried to be a good friend or partner, this thing, this bad thing, this mistake inevitably would over-write everything good I felt about myself. And it was all my fault, because I was bad. This has ALWAYS been so hard for me. But up until very recently I didn't understand why in these moments I became a child again, wanting desperately approval and unconditional love. But these relationships are NOT parental relationships, and love and friendship isn't always unconditional. Sometimes for very good reasons, relationship run their course and end. But what I wanted more than anything was approval. For them to tell me they would love me no matter what.

But what I ALWAYS took from this was that something is wrong with me. So wrong that I need to be different, that I was bad and there for not worthy of this friendship/relationship/love. In an effort to prove that I was lovable, I would often try to fix this relationship, by sacrificing some part of something that was valuable to me (my self worth or self respect), and usually only reinforced my feelings of not being good enough when I was unable to "fix" whatever this was. Lots of times, in hind-sight, the issue for them had very little, if anything, to do with me.

I was reminded this past weekend of just how fragile my self image is when you have people you trust knock you down. When even as an adult I know that there are many pieces and parts of me, some good and some bad. I can, in my mind, believe that I am over all a good person with good intentions. Am I perfect? No. Do I have things about me that I know aren't good qualities? Yes. But I would like to believe that on the whole I am a good person. And I would like to believe that the people I trust know this, and love me for me, short comings and all. But when people are angry and they do "my inventory" reminding me of my short comings, forgetting all about any good things, I am put back into that place where I am unable to let go of this judgment.

Like a child, I hear these things that people say, the list of things that are bad about me, and I believe, once again, that I am bad. It's all my fault. I know it shouldn't matter what another may think, and that hidden among this long lists of things wrong with me are the truths that this has more to do with them, than me. But I am that child in the corner again, just waiting for him to say "And you..."

Mental Masturbation

These conversation I have in my head, where I have the perfect words to say, everything seems so clear. I find this effortless.

But just like masturbation: This time spend stroking my mind alone.... not as fun as it is which a competent partner and much more satisfying than it is with an incompetent partner.

The Dance

Relationships are like dancing. Some people you just click with and the dance is effortless, you move through the steps as if you are one. And with others it is clumsy and awkward, like Baby learning to dance with Johnny in Dirty Dancing. Feet stepping on feet, heads bonking. Or worse.

I'm kind of a strong person, so sometimes it is hard to navigate this dance with a partner. Maybe it is my internal struggle with traditional roles that I fight where I believe I am suppose to defer, yet my dominate personality directs me to do otherwise, I don't know. Even though I find that I can lead, the truth is, I mostly don't want to lead, I want to follow.

But even coming to this realization, if you seem befuddled, I will likely take over and direct. It is hard to not take the lead when a partner isn't communicative. If you can't communicate, I might as well dance with myself. Give me direction and I will follow. It's this "giving direction" that seems to be hard for some people. And maybe because I am a strong partner they are afraid to direct me. But I will follow your lead, if you prove competent and I trust you.

I realize some people are easy to follow and some aren't. Some partners just have a knack for leading. The trust becomes implicit and I follow them naturally. Other times, I fumble trying to trust, but never allowing myself to fully let a partner lead. I am waiting for a cue, but I become impatient (Patience was never a virtue I mastered). Sometimes I just can't figure out what is wanted from me. I will go where you lead, if I can figure that out. I can get confused by the signals and I step where it wasn't intended, I stop before I should, and sway to the left as my partner swings to the right. So, frustrated, I tend to take over and try to lead.

It is this confusion, to lead or to follow, that causes the awkwardness in the dance. And then I question, "Should it be this hard?" And there are all kinds of dynamics that are created when I "take over" the lead from a partner who wants to lead, but just isn't, in my eyes. It's just easier for me if you are a strong lead, or you clearly follow.

Even with the best of partners, though, I may on occasion like to lead. It's just me. But mostly, I do want to follow. I want to have a partner who can direct. Who I trust. Who knows how to lead, but can be graceful enough to defer at times.

It is rarely perfect and in sync when you start, but over time, you learn together to dance effortlessly and the give and the take comes without thought. Or not.... and you never learn to navigate each other and it is always awkward as you struggle to define your role in this dance.

Words and the Cooter Cuteness Conversation

Such very powerful things we say. Do we even understand the power? Most of the time, I don't. I say something and I am shocked at the response. I figured no one listened or took me serious enough to care what I say. But every now and then I get glimpses of this power when sometimes I push at a boundary with the things I say and I make people uncomfortable. I would like to say I am completely unaware that my words have this effect, and mostly this is true, but in this particular instance I'm not so sure.

See, I'm a talker. Some consider this a character flaw. I seem to need to talk my way through all kinds of things. I say things out loud in an effort to gain better understanding. I do not wait until I am sure of something to speak. I just speak. Sometimes very off the cuff, I say what makes sense to me in the moment. Most of the time I have no idea how I feel about something, I am still working that out. In the meantime, my mouth keeps moving, rarely even stopping to think about how what I am saying might sound to those around me. Sometimes these things are shocking or unexpected and make people uncomfortable. I'm sorry if I make you uncomfortable BUT I don't want to filter my speech or process these things differently or monitor your feelings about this or (and most important of all) feel shame for what I say. I am trying to embrace the talker in me. I own my words and I will say what I want. It doesn't mean because I say something that I will ACT on it or even be inappropriate as my words sometimes are. They are WORDS. I act out with what I say in an effort to understand how I feel. This is my process. It's the way I do it. You can take it and do with it what you like. It may mean that, as a consequence, you may not like what I say and (Oh, this is harder for me than you will EVER know) you may not even like me. But for today and for right now, I don't care. Because, if you know me and love me, you will take the time to look past this, deeper for what is really true for me.

And just like Howard Stern, George Carlin and many others push at the boundaries with their words, sometimes, so do I. The difference is, not as many people listen to me or care about what I say. Can you handle this?

It all started with this post which is a hoot. Well, most of what she writes over there is a hoot. As in: laugh out loud, co-workers staring at me, tears streaming down my face, try to control the snorting, funny. But this post, in addition to making me laugh, struck a cord. It was funny, but insightful too. Thought provoking. As in, I wanted to talk about this. First of all, it had really never occurred to me (at least in the way it occurred to her in kind of an obsessive way) to wonder about this issue. I am surprised (since I can be a wee bit obsessive, yes ONLY a wee bit) that I had never fixated on this issue myself. And folks, I have issues. Issues with my body, self esteem, being likable, being attractive etc, etc, etc. Maybe I was shocked that THIS wasn't one of them. Or was it? Had I ever even wondered about this? I don't know! I think it has crossed my mind on at least one occasion. But I've never had nightmares about it.

So, I began to wonder: Am I the only girl who HASN'T obsessed about the appearance of her vagina? Maybe everyone secretly had these feelings, and I was just not that self-aware. Or maybe the majority doesn't worry about such things, and in that case, I wondered, why didn't they worry more about this? After all, wouldn't it be surprising if most women (who obsess regularly about appearance in general) were NOT concerned about this? Leave it to girls to "worry" about such a thing as "Are my lady parts cute enough?". You would never hear a guy ask: "Does my schlong look cute?" Oh yeah, I almost forgot, you boys NEVER use those two words in the same sentence (cute and your rod)!! Let me rephrase: "Does my pecker look Good? Handsome? Manley? Attractive?" Oh yeah, we all know that you obsess about the size, and in comparison, women too worry about the tightness of our, eh hem, kitties. But appearance????

So yes, I laughed at her worry and then crinkled my brow and in a very thoughtful moment wondered "Is my cooter cute....?" And so started the Cooter Cuteness Conversation that got me in HUGE trouble. And actually, the trouble only furthers my desire to say the word cooter to anyone and everyone who would give me an audience. So here I am.

Cooter, Cooter, Cooter. My lovely lady parts! Yeah! How do you like them apples? Or more importantly: How do you like MY APPLES? OK, but seriously, not that many people have seen my who-ha, so it's not like I can take a poll. I asked the only person who was in my vicinity that would know (The Alaskan) if he thought my cooter was cute. "Of course, babe, sunshine and butterfly, the heavens open and the angles sing when you spread your legs. It's practically a religious experience." What else is he gonna say? Well honey, yeah, your pee-pee is ugly. U-G-L-Y (you ain't got no alibi) it's UGLY! Yeah right! Not if he ever hoped to partake in my peach again. Because, of course, by asking him I didn't expect to get an objective opinion. I knew (and wanted) his response. I wanted to be pacified here. To be told: "Of course it's cute!" Knowing full well it didn't matter, that if my coochie wasn't "doing it's job", cute or not, that we wouldn't have made it this far. But his oh so appropriate response to my playful topic of conversation isn't my issue, it was his discomfort with the subject matter: My PRIVATE Parts. Or should I say: his discomfort with me speaking about it in mixed company. After all, they should be private (MY PRIVATE PARTS)! See, the trouble came with the fact that I happened to poke at this in the presence of The Roomie (who of course has no opinion of my nether region having never made its acquaintance) but none the less laughed right along. And I persisted, giggling all the way, and kept right on poking at this, talking about cooter cuteness and MY PRIVATE PARTS in a not so private way.

Why you might ask was I stuck on this topic? I think I was just wanting to know: do guys really evaluate a girl by the appearance of her "stuff"? This shouldn't have been so hard to get at, I'm thinking. What was so difficult about me asking them this? Could have been that the more uncomfortable he got, the more I pushed. Could also have been the word cooter (I admit I LOVE the way it sounds coming out of my mouth) was in every sentence. I only wish now I had a more expanded repertoire of ways to refer to my vagina (I'll have to break out that episode to The L Word and watch very slowly and make notes for future use). But I'm sure he flinched every time I said cooter. Why Oh Why? I don't flinch every time there is talk about "Dropping the kids off at the pool." Or when they so vividly describe the smell coming out of their "rotting pumpkin" ass? Oh yes, and I smile (only rolling my eyes when he isn't looking) at this juvenile humor. Boys, after all, will be boys.

But I guess us girls aren't suppose to talk this way.

So, after a period of time, knowing there was no shutting me up, he went inside and got ready for bed. He was miffed. And I'm having a hard time being sensitive to his feelings. I want to be able to say what I want. And after this morning's harsh words, I was sulking when he dropped me off at work, and I told him (in my not so nice I'm-a-big-girl-and-I-will-do-whatever-I-want voice) that I would be asking everyone all the way down the hall on the way to my desk about MY COOTER! Surprise, surprise, he didn't like that as he sped away. Yes, not so "Big Girl" of me, I admit. Feck, I wish I wasn't so feisty sometimes and my mouth would just stay shut.

OK, no I don't.

Yeah, I know, I'm a talker. And that's what we "talkers" do. And I like that. Just try to shut me up! I didn't ask everyone down the hall this morning, BUT I did tell all the "helpies" about my troubles with talking too much about my cooter. Can't stop the mouth, you see. They smiled and some laughed and even sympathized. But I still don't feel better. So here I am blogging about this, writing down these thoughts and words to put out there in a VERY public way (another thing HE HATES! That I put this out there for anyone to read, even though I'm sure NO ONE reads this right? Anyone? Anyone? No. Thought so.) Oh, when he reads this (and he will!) Yikes.

I know the Alaskan has feelings about what I share and with who. He feels some things should just be between us, there are lines you just don't cross. And the issue with this lies in the fact that we don't agree on where that line is. I'm a pretty open person. Not that I hang my punani out for all to see (and judge). I'm not that open (or brave). It's not that I, too, don't have a line. Because I do. But when the boundaries aren't the same, how do we come to an agreement? How do I hold close to my autonomy while honoring his values? How do I not just defer to appease? Because when I defer I lose my sense of self and I feel bad about who I am. Like a child scolded, I believe I am expected to relinquish and assume that I am doing something wrong. When in fact, I am an adult and entitled to my opinion, and my words. But I can't help it: who's right and who's wrong. That is what it always comes down to. He's stubborn and I am at the very least defiant. So, I can't help but remember a quote from a Big Dog t- shirt that says:

If I agreed with you, then we'd both be wrong.

So there it is. My inner child (cooter) needing to be reassured that I am right (cute).